The Date
by indigovioletstargazer
Summary: Quinn's hopes for dinner with Carrie are dashed by a handsome stranger, with a more chilling 'date' on his mind. Post S2.
1. Chapter 1: The Legend

_Warning this story contains Season 2 spoilers and SWEARING similar to the programme._

_This is my second fan fiction about Carrie and Quinn. This new story follows on after Homeland, S2 E12 (The Choice). _

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 1**

Peter Quinn strode purposefully down the corridor. He was going to ask Carrie Mathison out for dinner. It was a long shot and he had no idea what her response might be, but he was feeling optimistic.

He hoped it might cheer her up, since a few months ago, the love of her life, Nicholas Brody, had seemingly blown himself up with a car bomb at Vice President William Walden's Memorial Service at Langley. Although Brody's remains had never been found, it was obvious to Quinn that Brody had been in the car and detonated the bomb, killing himself along with two hundred others.

Peter Quinn still hadn't forgiven himself for disobeying the order from David Estes to eliminate Brody. He often thought about how so many of his colleagues, including Estes, would still be alive if he had simply completed his Black Ops, off-the-books mission to kill Brody, instead of putting Carrie's heart first.

...

Peter Quinn was still a soldier and not officially a CIA Analyst. However, CIA headquarters at Langley was so short-staffed after the car bomb, that it had been the obvious decision for him to stay on a bit longer, as he had proven to be skilled in his role. With David Estes dead, Quinn was now working alongside Carrie under the leadership of Saul Berenson, the new Director of the Counter-terrorism Centre at the CIA. Saul was aware though, that Quinn's real boss, Dar Adal, might call him back to Special Operations at a moment's notice if necessary. There were a lot of other temporary staff like Quinn, from various agencies and countries, who had been drafted in to help out at short notice. Saul was doing his best to cope, with the limited resources and ragamuffin personnel that he had.

...

Peter Quinn stopped in his tracks as he approached Carrie's office. She was stood outside her closed office door with her back pressing against it. A good-looking muscular man with brown hair that he didn't recognise was leaning towards her and running his fingers teasingly through her long blonde hair. He was a few inches taller than Carrie and she was looking up at him and giggling flirtatiously. She started rubbing his outer thigh, running her fingers up and down the seam of his stone coloured chinos. She raised her other hand and tickled the man's stubbly chin before straightening the collar of his blue linen shirt.

"Fuck!" spat Quinn as he spun round and hurried back to his own office.

"Who the fuck is _he_?" Quinn grumbled to himself as he sat back down at his desk and tried to resume writing his report.

...

As the morning wore on, Quinn couldn't stop thinking about seeing Carrie with the mystery man. He tapped his fingers on the desk and wondered who he could ask to find out more about him. He jumped up and ran to the stationary cupboard and grabbed a plastic ruler.

Quinn headed towards Saul's office. He thought that Saul might appreciate a new ruler to replace his old peanut-butter encrusted, wooden one.

Saul's office door was closed. Through the glass, Quinn could see Saul smiling at a man with brown hair. The man's hair glinted with copper and chestnut tones, when he threw his head back in laughter.

Quinn got a glimpse of the man's stubbly profile. "Fuck, it's _him_ again!" He backed away in disbelief and annoyance at the sight of the same man in the blue shirt and chinos, who had been flirting with Carrie outside her office earlier.

"Hey look out!" Carrie sniped as Quinn's reversing rear bumped into her.

Quinn turned to face her. "Sorry," he grunted.

"Hey, what's with the ruler?" Carrie laughed crudely. "Been measuring your dick again?"

She snatched the ruler off him and shoved it down his waistband. "Hmmm, sorry Quinn. Still too small!"

Quinn hastily pulled the ruler out of his trousers and playfully smacked Carrie on the shoulder with it.

"Who's the muscle man in Saul's office?" He growled.

Carrie laughed. "You mean you haven't met Rudy McCoy? He's our resident Super Hero!"

"Met him? No. I've never even heard of him!" Quinn scowled.

Carrie's eyes misted as she sighed nostalgically. "He's Rudy McCoy. He's the CIA Agent that saved my life in Beirut. Rudy McCoy is a legend, Quinn, _a legend_."

…

Quinn had declined Carrie's invitation to introduce them to each other in Saul's office. He scurried back to his computer and looked up Agent Rudy McCoy's files. He saw that Agent McCoy had been temporarily redeployed to CIA headquarters due to the severe staff shortages after Brody's bomb had decimated so many personnel from Langley.

The files showed that Rudy McCoy was normally based in Lebanon. He had worked with Saul and Carrie in Beirut a few months earlier and McCoy had played a key role in running a mission there.

A local asset, Fatima Ali, had provided Carrie with intelligence that her husband, Ali Abbas, a Hezbollah Commander, was due to meet with Abu Nazir on Hamra Street.

Special Ops had managed to kill Ali Abbas and also Al-Razi, who was Abu Nazir's lieutenant, However, the mission on Hamra Street had failed to either capture or assassinate Abu Nazir, when he arrived to meet those men.

Quinn smirked to himself, rather proud that it had mainly been down to the teamwork of himself and Carrie, more recently, that had lead to Abu Nazir being killed at the abandoned Mill.

He browsed further records and found that Rudy McCoy was due to be getting a bravery award soon for repeatedly going above and beyond his duties. One of the testimonials from Saul indicated that McCoy had heroically saved Carrie, when she had been under gunfire from Hezbollah operatives whilst escaping from the house of Fatima and Abbas Ali in Beirut. It was the house where she had recovered the white cloth satchel that miraculously contained the hidden SD card that showed Nicholas Brody's suicide bomber confession video.

Carrie's words ran through Quinn's mind over and over again, taunting him.

_He's our resident Super Hero!_

_Rudy McCoy is a legend._

_..._

_Thanks so much for reading! Chapter 2 will follow soon._


	2. Chapter 2: Photo Date

_Warning this chapter contains SWEARING similar to the programme._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 2**

Peter Quinn was becoming increasingly annoyed at the lingering shadow that had appeared over his shoulder, whilst he sat typing furiously at the laptop on his desk. The unidentified owner of the masculine form was seriously encroaching too close into his private work zone. He turned aggressively and saw a grinning Rudy McCoy. The same man that he had been thinking about, contemptuously, for most of the morning.

"You're Peter Quinn, right?" McCoy grabbed Quinn's cool hand with his own warm one and shook it firmly. "I'm Rudy McCoy. I worked with Carrie and Saul in Beirut. I'm very pleased to finally meet you."

Quinn frowned at McCoy's perfectly defined pectoral muscles that were straining through his blue linen shirt. He snatched his hand back. "Yeah I know who you are. According to Carrie, you didn't just work with her... _you saved her life._"

Quinn sourly air-quoted the last four words before unconsciously running his hands, comparatively, down his khaki cotton shirt, feeling his own solid torso beneath. It was also a sub-conscious attempt to smooth his psychologically ruffled feathers and to expel the lingering heat that had unexpectedly permeated from McCoy's hand into his own.

McCoy looked away shyly, before he humbly and dismissively shrugged off the life-saving accolade. Then he assertively leant down to Quinn's ear and breathed softly. "You're one of Dar Adal's. A black ops guy, right?"

Quinn jerked away immediately. He stared up at McCoy suspiciously before standing, brusquely, in an attempt to regain his sense of alpha-masculinity and personal space that was being seriously violated. Quinn was already fractionally taller than McCoy, but he emphatically stiffened his spine and shoulders, in an endeavour to look and feel more powerful.

McCoy's eyes twinkled as he smiled warmly and touched Quinn's shoulder gently. "Hey, don't worry, Quinn, relax. I'm one of Dar Adal's too. I'm just here to brief you."

Quinn's eyes widened before he exhaled and slightly relaxed for a nano-second, unconsciously basking in the potent aura of Rudy McCoy. He scratched his head. "What's going on?"

McCoy checked over his shoulder before he pulled something small from the pocket of his chinos and showed it to Quinn. "Recognise this guy?"

Quinn frowned at the passport-sized photograph lying in McCoy's palm. "Yeah of course I do. It's Nicholas Brody. The suicide bomber."

"Look at the date on the back of the photo." McCoy flipped the photograph over and pinched it, raising it closely to Quinn's face. Quinn teased it gently from between McCoy's warm fingers.

"Ummm... Hey, that's the date the car bomb went off at Walden's Memorial Service and they all died. The day Brody died too..." Quinn grimaced and his blue eyes gazed into McCoy's with growing confusion.

"Look at the time on it, Quinn." McCoy inhaled sharply and quickly stroked the small black numbers printed on the back of the photograph, with his index finger.

"Fuck me!" Quinn gasped in shock and inadvertently grabbed the cuff of McCoy's blue linen shirt. Their matching blue eyes locked again. "Was this photo taken _after _Brody's bomb went off?"

A pale, strained man stared up at them blankly and lonesomely, from the small passport photograph. McCoy nodded solemnly, before jabbing the two-dimensional face. He whispered aggressively. "This fucking Brody guy, he's still alive and out there somewhere."

...

_Stay tuned for chapter 3 soon!_


	3. Chapter 3: Other Theories

_Thanks for the reviews received so far. Thanks Beth! Reviews, comments and feedback are always welcome and sincerely appreciated. Personally, I find them very useful, inspiring and motivating, so thanks so much to everyone who makes the extra time and effort to write reviews for the stories that they read._

_..._

_Warning this chapter contains SWEARING similar to the programme._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 3**

Rudy McCoy shut the office door and surveyed Peter Quinn seriously with his blue eyes. "In your opinion, do you think there's any possibility that Nicholas Brody was _not_ responsible for the car bomb at Walden's Memorial Service?"

Quinn shrugged and stared at the photograph of Brody, clearly alive and well. "I'm not sure. My gut feel still says that Brody did it. Maybe he got out of the car in time? Brody did it and now he's on the run? That would explain why there's no DNA matches for Brody, amongst all the body parts that have been analysed so far."

McCoy shivered. "Brody might have done it, but we must also consider if someone else was involved? Made it look like Brody? Maybe Brody's an innocent man running scared. He thinks that no one would ever believe him!"

"Who else would have done it though? Apart from Abu Nazir's men? Al-Qaeda?" Quinn scratched his head.

"It probably was Al-Qaeda... although Dar Adal has a few other theories." McCoy leant in to whisper. "Here's a crazy one: Who else has gained a lot from that bomb going off and virtually wiping out the CIA?"

Quinn shrugged and shook his head. "Apart from Al-Qaeda? I've no idea."

McCoy placed his warm hands on Quinn's broad shoulders and firmly pressed the khaki-coloured cotton with his palms.

"Saul Berenson." McCoy stated it simply and seriously, whilst he stared into Quinn's blue eyes.

Quinn backed away sharply, spluttering and laughing. "Saul? You're fucking joking right?"

McCoy shook his head and whispered furtively. "Look how his life has turned around since that car bomb went off? I hear that he's gone from virtually being pensioned off, or even fired... to being the new Director of the Counter-terrorism at the CIA!"

Quinn's eyes were wide as he rubbed his chin. He was struggling to seriously consider Dar Adal's bizarre theory, presented to him so unexpectedly by McCoy.

McCoy smiled. "Apparently Saul's wife, Mira, the love of his life, came back too. That was another major bonus for him after the car bomb. I heard that Saul was a broken man without her!"

Quinn nodded. He knew this part was true from the long shifts that he had spent with Saul a while ago on surveillance. Saul had talked endlessly about Mira.

Quinn attempted, unsuccessfully, to visualise Saul as the killer of two hundred innocent people. " I hear what you're saying McCoy, but talk about taking extreme measures to get your wife back!"

McCoy raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Stranger things have happened."

Quinn whispered. "Do you seriously think Saul could have orchestrated it all? He was at Abu Nazir's burial when it was all kicking-off at Langley!"

McCoy smiled and spoke softly. "The perfect alibi. Anything is possible, although I agree it's unlikely and there must have been others involved to move Brody's car. Unless Brody was working for Saul..."

Quinn glanced at the photograph of Brody again and suddenly gasped. "Now we believe Brody is still alive, do you think Carrie knows, or was involved somehow? You know that her and Brody were together?"

McCoy raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Do _you_ think she knows? How's she been lately, since he supposedly died?"

Quinn mused. "She's been down, but not as grief-stricken as I would have expected if the love of your life had just blown themselves to pieces. It's like she's missing his company, rather than grieving for him."

McCoy frowned and fiddled with a button on the cuff of his blue shirt. "Do you think she loved him?"

Quinn nodded. "Love is pretty much an understatement. The last time I did surveillance on Brody was up at Carrie's family's cabin. They were seriously loved up. For her to have seen his suicide bomber confession video and still love him? I'd say she was beyond serious about him. It was true love. That's why I couldn't pull the trigger..."

"Wow!" McCoy was flabbergasted. "I had no idea that they really loved each other! I thought Carrie had just been getting revenge on him. You know, to get more intelligence out of Brody and to punish him, for what she went through with the ECT and losing her job."

Quinn put his face in his hands and further contemplated the relationship of Carrie and Brody, before speaking soberly and pensively. "To be honest that's been the hardest part for me to understand. Who in their right mind would blow themselves up, if they'd just binned a Stepford wife like Jessica Brody and secured themselves a bright future with a beautiful, independent and intelligent woman like Carrie Mathison?"

Quinn and McCoy simultaneously sighed, wistfully.

"If Carrie loved Brody and believed that he was innocent, could she have helped him escape, logistically? After the bomb went off?" McCoy's mind was racing.

Quinn raised his eyebrows and nodded. "It's a possibility. Carrie says she was unconscious for hours, but the weird thing is there's no records. No record of anyone finding her, or attending to her at Langley. No records of her at the hospital either."

McCoy looked grim. "You've already checked then? You must have had some suspicions about Carrie already?"

Quinn nodded again. "I've always trusted Carrie's judgement on absolutely everything, _apart from Brody_." He frowned. "Carrie was missing for hours after the car bomb went off. I know Saul said that she showed up whilst he was praying and saying the Mourner's Kaddish over all the bodies. I've been really dubious about her missing hours. Her story about being unconscious and undiscovered for hours? It has never really made sense to me."

McCoy frowned at Quinn. "So, would you agree that we need to watch Carrie and Saul pretty closely? Try and see if they're involved somehow? They might not be, but Dar Adal says we need to check it out carefully."

Quinn nodded. "Well it's worth a try. We definitely need to put some feelers out for Brody's whereabouts too, but very discreetly so no alarm bells ring. We can't trust anybody here, right now."

McCoy winked and smiled intently. "We can trust each other."

...

Quinn inhaled sharply and looked away, momentarily disconcerted by the bold declaration of mutual trust, from Rudy McCoy, the man who he had really only just met. The same man that had thwarted his plans earlier, to ask Carrie out to dinner. The same man that he had jealously wished had never showed up at Langley, particularly when Carrie had referred to him as a _Super Hero_ and _a_ _legend_.

McCoy smiled broadly and grasped Quinn's muscular forearm firmly. "So, buddy, who do you want to get close to? Try and find out if they have any dirty little secrets? Carrie or Saul?"

Quinn stepped away from McCoy and laughed. "Well, I'd prefer Carrie, obviously!"

McCoy frowned before looking at Quinn tentatively. "Quinn, are you Carrie's latest boyfriend by any chance? You know a source of comfort after she allegedly lost Brody? I heard that she often has a thing for guys that she works with!"

Quinn sighed and shook his head. "No chance. We're pretty good friends now, but she's still too into Brody, whether or not he's alive!"

Quinn surveyed McCoy's biceps enviously and took the opportunity to ask the question that had been bugging him all morning. "So... McCoy? If she goes for guys that she works with... I'm guessing that you and Carrie got it on in Beirut?"

McCoy rolled his eyes before shaking his head. "Do you know how fragile Carrie was when she came out to Beirut? She was still in a right mess after the ECT. She just slept and cried for most of the time."

Quinn scowled and banged his fist down on the desk. "I can't _believe_ that Estes dragged her away from her family and made her go."

McCoy jumped slightly. "It was Saul who forced Estes hand really, but he didn't have a lot of choice either. The off-book source, Fatima Ali, the Hezbollah leader's wife, would speak with no one but Carrie, about her husband's planned meeting with Abu Nazir. Saul was absolutely desperate. He felt terrible dragging Carrie into it, especially when she didn't even work for the CIA any more!"

Quinn shook his head and tutted. "Poor Carrie."

McCoy sighed and nodded nostalgically. "I know, it was hard for her. I took care of her in Beirut though. I kept her safe. I still really care for her an awful lot, despite her alleged reputation as the man-eater of the CIA!"

Quinn smiled and felt glad that at least somebody had looked out for Carrie, when she had been so frail, yet dumped by the CIA into the middle of Beirut.

He decided to confide in McCoy. "Well I wouldn't know about the man-eater bit, but I like her a hell of a lot too."

McCoy laughed lasciviously. "So, we both genuinely like Carrie, but somehow you and I are practically her only close colleagues, who haven't _yet had the pleasure_... if you know what I mean?"

Quinn frowned. "What do you mean exactly? I've only heard rumours about that nasty business with her and Estes..."

McCoy nodded. "Yeah, I heard Carrie was the reason that he got divorced. His ex-wife and kids never even came to his funeral. Apparently, she was too fearful of running into Carrie there."

Quinn's brows knitted as he remembered Estes' fate, the first person to be hit by the fireball in the bomb blast. As if to counteract the gruesome memories of Estes' last moments, a more amusing thought popped into Quinn's mind. "What about Carrie and Saul? I just can't imagine them together for one minute!"

McCoy chuckled. "After we'd had a few drinks one time, Saul told me that Carrie had propositioned him once! After he threatened to report her for secretly setting up the original surveillance on Brody!"

"No way!" Quinn pretended to gag. "Hopefully Saul was too much of a gentleman to take her up on that offer?"

McCoy nodded. "Saul knew that Carrie was just on one of her crazy freak-outs."

Quinn sighed. "Carrie is an amazing woman. To do the work that she does, whilst coping with her bipolar disorder. She's truly incredible and who cares if she has a reputation as a man-eater? If you ask me, it just makes her more appealing!"

McCoy put his big arm round Quinn's fractionally narrower, but taller frame. "It's just you and me, Quinn, my new buddy. The rejects. We must be far too ugly for Carrie if she's propositioned Saul, but never us!" He laughed and winked. "Perhaps we'll just have to make do with each other?"

Quinn surprised himself by hugging McCoy and chuckling. "Yeah, perhaps you're right. No wait, what about Danny Galvez? Perhaps he can join our lonely hearts club too, if he _ever_ gets out of hospital this time. Stupid idiot is dying on us again!"

McCoy convulsed with laughter and shook his head. "No, I swear Galvez took Carrie home after a New Year's party one year! Have you _seen_ Danny Galvez on the dance-floor?" McCoy attempted an impersonation by grinding his perfect hips raunchily, before crazily breaking out into something resembling the Harlem Shake. "Women can't resist Galvez! Well, some men can't either. I love that guy, he is _a legend!_"

"A_ legend_..." Quinn frowned at hearing the word that had tormented him for hours. "That's what Carrie called you earlier!"

McCoy gasped and his eyes twinkled optimistically. "Wow! She did? Well then, perhaps I better be the one to try to get close and monitor Carrie!"

Quinn sighed dejected, knowing that McCoy was right. He grumbled jealously. "Yeah, okay. Good luck, McCoy. I'll keep my eyes firmly on the beautiful Saul instead."

...

_Thanks for reading. More will follow soon! In the meantime if you'd like to see my fanfic blog (which has some pictures of Rudy McCoy!) then please visit my profile/bio page which has a link to the blog._


	4. Chapter 4: Great Expectations

_Warning this chapter contains SWEARING similar to the programme._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 4**

Three weeks later Peter Quinn slammed the lid down on Saul's laptop, before locking it back in the drawer where he had found it.

Either Saul was really good at covering his tracks or there was absolutely nothing suspicious to find on him. Quinn had trawled every computer file and paper trail that he could think of at Langley and every square inch of Saul's office had been scoured meticulously today. He had checked Saul's cell phone records too. There was nothing out of the ordinary, except the hourly calls to his home number, most likely to check in on Mira, now that she was back from India.

Quinn wondered where else he could look for evidence of Saul's involvement with the bomb blast. _Saul's home computer, perhaps?_

He knew that he would need to visit the imposing residence of the Berenson's to access it, however it would be tricky to sneak in unnoticed as Mira had rarely left their home since she had returned from India. He wondered how the sociable Mira could stand it, being cooped up all day alone, whilst Saul was out working all hours, as he had always done so throughout their long marriage.

Quinn recalled from Saul's fond tales, that Mira was quite the adventuring globetrotter who did important charitable work overseas, most recently in the slums of Mumbai , running a project that her parents' had set up. Saul had said that Mira despised the banality of the domestic routine at home, cooking and cleaning, interspersed with Yoga. He said that she felt that she was wasting her time when she could be out changing people's' lives and making the world a better place. She had offered to come back because Saul needed her. She had been worried about him, but he was now thriving in his new role as Director of Counter-Terrorism with Carrie at his side. Quinn wouldn't be surprised if Mira got itchy feet and left him again, sometime soon.

Quinn had an idea about orchestrating a group social visit, of some description, to visit Mira. He thought it might give him a chance to snoop around. Mira would probably enjoy some lively company too, other than than the work-obsessed Saul. He decided that the equally jet-setting Rudy McCoy could keep her talking and charm her to distraction.

Later Quinn discussed his thoughts with Rudy McCoy at the urinal.

"I'll see what I can do." McCoy nodded as he zipped up his jeans and winked. "Laters, baby."

Quinn frowned. He considered McCoy's joking adieu and wished that he could convince McCoy to read something other than _Fifty Shades of Grey_.

…

Later that day, Quinn grasped his plastic cup tightly as he strode away from the machine. It had served him up a lukewarm americano, instead of a double espresso. Further down the corridor, he spied Carrie and McCoy briefly giggling about something before she dashed away. He was left looking alone and forlorn.

Quinn patted him on the shoulder, reassuringly, as he passed. He wasn't overly convinced that McCoy was making any serious attempts, or headway, with trying to get close to Carrie. McCoy had hinted that she had some serious barriers up. Apart from some casual flirting and occasional banter, it seemed that Rudy McCoy was not getting any action, or information out of Carrie whatsoever.

Quinn's eyes lit up as he smiled to himself.

_Perhaps we'll have to swap? McCoy-the-alleged-legend can do some surveillance on Saul for a change, whilst I work on Carrie. I might even get that dinner date with her after all!_

...

The following morning, McCoy had worked his magic on Saul or Mira Berenson. His charm was obviously still working, even if Carrie was currently immune to it.

"The Berensons have decided to invite a few friends and work colleagues over for drinks on Saturday night." McCoy proudly announced the result of his persuasive mission, to Carrie and Quinn, whilst they were all in Carrie's office.

"Sounds great!" Quinn smiled at McCoy. "I'd love to go."

"I'm sorry, I can't. I already have plans." Carrie cleared her throat and fidgeted with her ear, before grabbing some papers off her desk.

Quinn observed her carefully. "What are you up to, Carrie? Anything nice?"

"Oh I'm going away for the weekend. Visiting a friend." Carrie's smiled breezily, before biting her lower lip.

McCoy frowned. "That's a shame Carrie. I was hoping to take you out for lunch sometime this weekend.

Carrie blushed and clutched the papers to her chest. "Oh thanks Rudy. That's sweet of you. Perhaps another time?"

Rudy McCoy shrugged. "I hope so. Guess I'll just have to make do and take boring old Quinn out for lunch instead."

Carrie and Quinn both laughed loudly.

"Lucky me!" Quinn rolled his eyes then winked at Carrie.

...

Carrie put the papers back down on her desk. She stood up and draped her arms around both of their shoulders. "I'm pleased you guys are getting on so well. I was worried that Rudy would be bored here, after having such an exciting life, in the hustle and bustle of Beirut!"

McCoy laughed. "Well, to be honest, I was hoping to spend a bit more time with _you_, Carrie, whilst I'm here. I'm tired of boring old Quinn! All he wants to do is sit in his apartment and read classic novels!"

Quinn nudged McCoy in the ribs with his elbow. "You said that you really enjoyed some of the paragraphs that I read to you! Remember the one from Great Expectations, by Charles Dickens?"

McCoy sighed. "I do remember it being pretty poignant."

Quinn nodded and his eyes flitted to Carrie to see how she reacted. He cleared his throat before quoting passionately.

...

_That was a memorable day to me, for it made great changes in me. _

_But, it is the same with any life. _

_Imagine one selected day struck out of it, and think how different its course would have been. _

_Pause you who read this, and think for a moment of the long chain of iron or gold, of thorns or flowers, that would never have bound you, but for the formation of the first link on one memorable day._

_..._

Carrie stared at him gobsmacked, before tears suddenly welled in her eyes and she touched his hand gently. "That's beautiful, Quinn!"

"Imagine if Brody hadn't detonated that bomb?" He spoke coldly and eyed her carefully. "Imagine striking that memorable day out? How different things would be today!"

Carrie choked, before swiftly regaining her composure. "I'm sure Dickens had his own momentous day in his mind when he wrote that..."

McCoy nodded. "Did you know that Quinn reads Dickens all the time? Much as I enjoy the snippets he shares, I would prefer him to stop reading for a while and play Black Ops two with me!"

Carrie laughed and then frowned. "Reading classic novels? Computer games like Black Ops two? How the hell do you guys have the _time_ for that sort of stuff?"

McCoy and Quinn glanced at each other and shrugged, laughing. They both agreed that Rudy McCoy moving into Peter Quinn's apartment as a lodger last week, was proving to be an entertaining and educational experience for both of them.

Carrie huffed and put her hands on her hips. "_Time_ is the one thing that _I_ certainly do not have right now." She became emphatic. "You know, sometimes I think that I'm the only one who is actually trying to gather any evidence about who was really responsible for that bomb blast. You remember guys, the one that killed so many of our friends and colleagues?"

"We already know it was Brody!" Quinn analysed Carrie carefully, as he quietly tossed the statement up in the air to see how she reacted.

Carrie inhaled quickly before shaking her head vigorously and sniping. "We can't assume that!"

"You must have_ some_ _free_ _time_ though Carrie?" McCoy enquired sharply and air-quoted _some free time_. He leant closer. "You have enough _time _to take a road-trip this weekend?"

He failed to sound casual as he continued. ""Carrie, where does your friend live? What's his or her name?"

"What's this? The Spanish Inquisition?" Carrie snapped at him in return and took a step away.

"Whoa! Sorry. Just trying to be friendly!" McCoy looked at her, wounded.

"Yeah well! I'm just busy okay. It's my first weekend off in months. My free time is very precious and very limited. I'm not completely married to this place or even my surviving colleagues."

"I never thought I'd hear Carrie Mathison say _that_!" Quinn laughed cynically.

"Fuck you Quinn." She growled at him, before flicking a middle finger and stomping out of her own office.

...

Quinn and McCoy looked at each other, stunned, before high-fiving. "She's going to visit Brody!" they gasped simultaneously.

"Sorry, buddy. Looks like we might need to postpone our lunch date." Quinn smiled and patted McCoy's shoulder. "I think we might be too busy trailing Carrie to Brody's hide-out!"

"Yes, this could be fun weekend." McCoy ruffled his hair affectionately. "We'll need plenty of weapons and make sure you leave that damn Dickens book at home. Let's forget about playing Black Ops two. This is the real thing!"

Quinn laughed and rubbed his hands. "I can't wait to see Brody's face when we show up and spoil their little reunion."

...


	5. Chapter 5: The Bench

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 5**

Peter Quinn squinted up at Carrie as she joined him on the lonely, single wooden bench outside an intact part of the CIA headquarters building.

He had somberly been surveying the other building that had been most damaged by the bomb blast. The black rubble and twisted girders, near the charred trees and scorched grass, had initially matched his dark mood and frazzled nerves. He was more relaxed now and had been enjoying the birdsong and the warmth of the sun, with his eyes closed.

They sat together in silence for a minute, sharing the sunshine, before Carrie spoke sheepishly. "I'm sorry I was so rude and unprofessional to you earlier, Peter."

Quinn tilted his head towards her and half-smiled. "You gave me the finger!"

"I'm just so tired. So tired of working all the time. So tired of seeing all_ this_... this destruction!" She sadly swept her hand across the scene of the devastated building.

He frowned. "Shhh... I know. It's okay. I'm sorry if McCoy and I upset you. Teasing you about your road trip this weekend."

Carrie froze momentarily before attempting to change the subject.

"You've been a good friend to me Quinn... since..." She faltered, "since all of _this_ happened."

He reached over and took her hand gently. "I'm still your friend, Carrie."

"I was already exhausted before it happened. I was so tired after chasing Nazir. Now I'm just..." She frowned. "I'm in limbo."

…

Quinn kept hold of her hand and cautiously shifted his body round to face her properly.

"What kind of limbo?"

She diverted her eyes as if seeking a truth to share with him.

"I miss Brody." she whispered tentatively. "I know what you think he did, but I _knew_ him, Quinn. I know Brody wasn't capable of doing something like this."

Quinn appraised her critically. "Sounds to me like you're trying to convince yourself..."

"No!" She snatched her hand away and tears welled in her eyes.

...

"Carrie, whatever image of Sergeant Brody you still see through those rose-tinted glasses of yours, the truth of his actions is here, right in front of us!" He stretched his arms wide to encompass the dreadful scene.

Carrie sobbed softly. "I don't think it was him, Quinn! I just wish someone would believe me and help me find out who really did this!"

"It won't bring Brody back, though, Carrie." Quinn shook his head as he bluntly interjected, to test her response.

"It might! If he's not really dead. What if he ran away because... because he was scared?" Carrie still chose her words carefully, despite her sobs.

Quinn bit his tongue as he thought about the passport photograph, showing Brody alive and well. "Why would he do that?"

Carrie sighed and wiped her eyes. "Because Brody knew he'd be prime suspect number one! He knew Al-Qaeda would release his suicide confession video falsely in relation to this event! This was their successful attack. Not his! They'd held onto that video to blackmail him. Ever since Brody didn't go through with detonating his vest, whilst in the State Department bunker with the Vice President and all the other politicians."

Quinn shrugged unmoved. "He came close enough to detonating it though."

Carrie scowled. "I'm convinced Brody knew that once that video became public, then no one on the face of the earth would ever believe that he didn't set off the car bomb at Walden's Memorial."

"But you really don't think it was him?" Quinn raised his eyebrows earnestly.

She nodded. "I want you to believe in him too and help me to clear his name. Then Brody might come back."

"Why should I do that, Carrie?" Quinn ran his fingers through his short brown hair.

Carrie touched his knee lightly. "Because, right now, you're my best friend and I want Brody to come back."

Quinn gulped before clasping her hand firmly. "If I'm your friend and you want my help to do this, then I deserve the truth! What do you really know, Carrie?"

She swallowed and her lips trembled.

Quinn grasped her hand even tighter. "What do you know about Brody, Carrie?"

"I know he's... I know he's... I just know he's innocent and I'm the only person in the world who can see that." She held onto his hand, as if for dear life.

...

"Carrie, it's a pointless, fruitless exercise! Brody made a suicide video. At some point, Brody had every intention to commit terrible, terrible atrocities." Quinn caressed her fingers gently, to try and ease the pain he knew his words would cause her.

She snatched her hand away, as if scalded and gesticulated wildly, as she hissed. "He'd been brain-washed by Nazir! That wasn't Brody. That was a Zombie who thankfully regained his senses in the nick of time!"

Quinn made a grab for her hand and spoke softly. "Do you really think the public would ever believe that? After seeing that video?"

"It's worth a try. I'm going to find out the truth. I'm the only hope that Brody has." Carrie allowed Quinn to hold her hand, before she collapsed into him, resting her head on his shoulder.

He stroked her hair, then wiped her cheek gently and whispered in her ear. "Why are you so sure that Brody is still alive?"

She didn't answer initially and Quinn waited patiently. The birdsong sounded artificially loud in her ominous silence.

He felt Carrie's heart rate quicken dramatically as she turned to whisper in his ear. "Because Brody wasn't in his car when the bomb went off." Her soft breast compressed against Quinn's firm chest, making his own heart skip a beat.

Quinn froze and didn't say anything. He waited for more, hardly daring to breathe, as she remained pressed so closely against him.

Her voice cracked. "Brody was with me. We were in Saul's office."

"Then what happened?" Quinn whispered so softly and closely that his lips brushed her earlobe. He fought the frantic desire to take it between his teeth.

As if only just becoming aware of her proximity to Quinn, she jerked away and turned directly to face him. Her eyes drifted to the trees as she spoke carefully and seriously. "I was knocked out when the bomb went off and when I woke up Brody was gone. He'd disappeared."

Quinn scrutinised her dismissive shrug after she spoke. "Is that the truth Carrie? Or just half of it?"

She shrugged again and looked towards the trees, as if studying them. "It's the way I remember it!"

"Have you told anyone else?" Quinn reached for Carrie's hand again and she didn't seem to notice.

"No." Carrie unconsciously responded to Quinn's touch by stroking his hand lightly and sighing. "I don't want Brody to be hunted down like an animal. I just need more time..."

She continued to gaze dreamily at the tree-lined horizon.

"What if you're wrong Carrie? What if Brody did it?" Quinn asked her cautiously, gently cupping her cheeks in both of his hands to bring her attention back to him.

Carrie's blue eyes searched softly and deeply into his, almost pleading. "But what if Brody _didn't _do it? Doesn't that scare you more?"

Quinn shook his head assertively and hoped his cold blue stare pierced the bubble of her fanciful lies and daydreams. "It scares me more if Brody did do it! And it scares me a hell of a lot more now you've told me that he's still out there!"


	6. Chapter 6: Transcript

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 6**

Rudy McCoy scowled up at Peter Quinn as he walked into the office.

"You and Carrie looked cosy out there!" McCoy eyed Quinn distrustfully.

Quinn shivered and touched his own chest briefly at the memory of Carrie's body contact. It was only minutes since she had pressed there, so hard, yet so soft against him. He smiled as he gazed into McCoy's blue eyes. "Jealous?"

McCoy shot a Quinn a look that he didn't really understand, before throwing a piece of paper and a small Dictaphone at him. "Quinn, you've got a message from Dar Adal. Go to that address. Seems like Mike is ready to talk."

"Mike?" Quinn stared at him blankly.

McCoy threw his hands up in mock exasperation. "The guy who made Brody's fake passport and other documents. Dar Adal's team found Brody's photo and other stuff on his Graphics business premises when they raided it a few weeks ago. Mike's been silent, until now."

"How come you never told me any of this?" Quinn laid his palm on McCoy's shoulder.

McCoy patted it affectionately. "You never asked."

…

Later that evening, Quinn and McCoy huddled together in Quinn's car. It was dark and they were both using night vision binoculars to observe Carrie's car that was being loaded up outside her house.

"It'll be the kitchen sink going in next!" whispered McCoy.

Quinn laughed "She certainly doesn't know the meaning of packing light..." He tailed off and accidentally dropped his binoculars. As his hand scrabbled around McCoy's trainers to retrieve them, his heart grew heavy.

"She's not packing for a weekend away, is she?" He felt tears pricking his eyes unexpectedly.

"No. It looks like she might be planning on staying with Brody for a bit longer." McCoy's voice sounded strained. "Oh Carrie, you silly, silly woman."

Quinn swallowed. "Did you definitely fit the tracking device securely to her car?"

"Yes. While you two were snuggling up on the bench this afternoon, I also tapped and tracked her cell phone, so we'll have no problems following her, whenever she sets off to her little rendezvous with Brody." McCoy sounded proud of himself.

"Good, let's just hope she doesn't abandon either the cell phone or the car, en-route. She's smart and she won't hesitate to change her plan if she suspects anyone is following her." Quinn felt desperately anxious at the thought of losing track of Carrie.

McCoy sighed. "Carrie is smart. Too smart for her own good. Her downfall is that she's too trusting sometimes... I don't think she ever suspected Mike would spill the beans with all the details about taking Brody's photograph and making his documents."

Quinn smiled at his memory of a successful afternoon of interrogation. "Well, believe me, Mike was more than ready to talk to me after a few weeks with Dar Adal's other rottweilers."

McCoy inhaled. "Do you really think this _Ellen_ he mentioned, was really Carrie? Ellen who brought Brody to Mike, to have his photograph taken and request his fake documents?"

Quinn nodded. "Without a shadow of a doubt. I showed a picture of Carrie to Mike... and he identified her as Ellen."

"Why did Mike decide to start talking now?" McCoy mused.

Quinn shrugged. "I guess there's only so much water-boarding and other enhanced interrogation techniques that an ordinary man can take."

…

After it seemed that Carrie had finished loading her car for the evening and was not imminently setting off, Quinn and McCoy returned to their apartment to do some packing themselves for the weekend ahead.

An array of weapons covered the rug and McCoy's single bed, as the pair of them sat on it, meticulously and meditatively cleaning and preparing their vast arsenal. McCoy was listening to classical music on the radio, whilst Quinn listened to a Dickens audio-book via the earphones connected to his iPod. From time to time they grinned at each other, both enjoying sharing this preparatory ritual that each normally had to perform alone, prior to a mission such as this.

McCoy suddenly turned the radio off and grabbed Quinn's iPod, disconnecting it from the earphone's socket.

Quinn opened his mouth to complain, but McCoy signalled to him to be quiet.

They looked at each other as their doorbell rang and was accompanied by a loud knock on the door.

"It can only be Saul or Dar Adal, they're the only people who know where we live." Quinn whispered as he headed towards the door, gesturing to McCoy to follow him. "Shut your bedroom door, McCoy, in case it's Saul and he wonders what these weapons are for."

McCoy nodded, he put his Glock handgun in it's holster, before throwing a bed-sheet over the other weapons and obediently shut his door.

…

Saul was welcomed into their small apartment. He looked tired and emotional as he clutched a bright yellow foolscap folder.

"What brings you here, Sir?" Quinn asked politely and seriously.

"I have something to show you," Saul half-smiled as he thrust the folder towards Quinn.

Quinn opened it carefully. It was a transcript. It looked like a telephone conversation. His eyes widened as he read the names.

"Estes and Nazir?" He stared at Saul with confusion.

"Just read it," sighed Saul. "There's a lot more transcripts of telephone calls between these pair, but I thought you might like this one in particular. This conversation took place about ten minutes after Vice President Bill Walden had apparently died of heart attack."

Quinn sat down on the small sofa and McCoy joined him. They held the page together and read the transcript.

...

**Estes:** _Hello? This is David Estes._

**Nazir:** _Good news! It is done!_

**Estes**: _Walden is dead?_

**Nazir: **_Yes. Praise Allah for the actions of our brother, Nicholas!_

**Estes:**_ Ah, yes, Praise Allah indeed. I'm pleased Brody has stayed true to you._

**Nazir: **_He has this time, but only to save the life of his blonde whore. I do not believe he did it to glorify Allah, or out of respect for Issa. It is with regret I must inform you that I believe Nicholas no longer supports our cause._

**Estes:**_ Then I will give the orders for him to be eliminated, if he no longer serves you._

**Nazir:**_ On one hand, that pleases me greatly, but on the other it saddens me, as I had a bigger task for Nicholas._

**Estes:**_ A bigger task?_

**Nazir: **_I assume the CIA will hold a Memorial Service for Vice President Walden?_

**Estes:**_ If you desire such an event, then I will make it happen._

**Nazir: **_I will need your help at this event._

**Estes:**_ My help? Whatever you require, Nazir. I am your loyal servant._

**Nazir:**_ At the Memorial there will be hundreds of Walden's followers. His family, his friends, politicians, CIA colleagues...It would please me greatly if these followers of the infidel were to suffer and die._

**Estes: **_How can I help with this?_

**Nazir:**_ My team will assist you to put C-4 into a vehicle which can be moved outside the Memorial Service. When you feel the time is right, you can detonate it by remote control._

**Estes:**_ A car bomb?_

**Nazir**_**: **__Yes. Are you ready to be a Martyr, David?_

**Estes:**_ I swore that I would serve you and I will keep my promise._

**Nazir**_**:**__ No matter what happens to me, you must do this!_

**Estes:**_ You have my word._

_..._

Peter Quinn slumped back against the sofa and rested his head. He rolled his eyes upwards and croaked. "Estes. It was fucking Estes?"

Saul nodded. "It certainly looks that way. David Estes was a suicide bomber and Brody was just another innocent victim at Walden's Memorial."

McCoy frowned and tapped the transcript that was now resting on his knee. "Brody was innocent apart from killing the Vice President to start with!"

Quinn leant towards McCoy. "He did it to save Carrie's life!"

McCoy looked incredulous. "Does that make a difference? Is that a good enough reason to kill the Vice President these days?"

Saul smiled "I'd have probably done the same to save Mira, if Nazir had been holding her hostage. The Vice President was as corrupt as they come."

McCoy looked at Saul and Quinn, as if he couldn't believe his ears. "Brody committed a crime. He killed the Vice President of the United States of America. Even if his motive was love for Carrie, rather than terrorism!"

Saul nodded. "I don't disagree with you Rudy, but compared to what Estes has done? Brody has done nothing!"

"Nothing!" McCoy spluttered in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind? Do you think the death of one innocent man is less important than the death of two hundred?"

Quinn spoke quietly as he considered the ethics of murder. "I think a good man who kills a corrupt politician, to save the life of the woman he loves, is less dangerous than a terrorist who kills, purely to see innocent people suffer and die!"

McCoy opened his mouth to speak, but shut it again. He was an assassin, like Quinn. He knew that sometimes there were grey areas.

...

Quinn's mind skipped ahead. "Does Carrie know about Estes?"

Saul shook his head. "Not yet. I can't get hold of her. Although she might be on the road. She said she might set off earlier than planned, to visit a friend out-of-town."

Quinn chewed his gum hard, trying to decide what he should and shouldn't tell Saul. He grabbed his laptop and flipped it open to check the screen.

He gasped. "Damn, Carrie's about forty miles north already!"

Saul stared at the screen. "You're tracking Carrie? Why?"

McCoy sighed, resigned to confessing their plan to Saul. "She's on her way to see Brody. Possibly on her way to join him on the run, judging by the amount of stuff she's packed into her car."

"Brody's alive?" Saul stared at Quinn and McCoy with growing confusion.

McCoy threw him the passport photo that was sat on the coffee table. "Carrie helped Brody escape after the car bomb went off. En-route she took him to get a new passport, new birth certificate, the full works! He has a new identity thanks to her."

Saul glowered darkly at this information. "How come I don't know any of this?"

Quinn and McCoy looked at each other.

"This is Dar Adal's work." Quinn spoke tentatively.

Saul frowned, then visibly relaxed and a broad smile spread across his face. "I might have known that old dog would be a step ahead of me! Honestly that secretive man, I only spoke to him an hour ago! Good work, Quinn, McCoy!"

They smiled in unison.

Saul edged closer to them, so close that his beard almost tickled them. "Anything else I need to know about? You fucking devious bastards!"

Quinn inhaled and shook his head. "You're further ahead than Dar Adal now. This information about Estes is a game-changer!"

"This information about Carrie and Brody is a game-changer for me!" growled Saul.

...

"What do you want us to do next, Sir?" McCoy felt concerned as he enquired. He had a mixed sense of loyalty to both Saul and Dar Adal.

Saul considered carefully. "What was your original plan?"

"Sir, our plan was to capture Brody and bring him back, but obviously we intended to do it forcibly because we thought he was the CIA car bomber." McCoy hoped Saul would approve, even though the plan had been instigated behind his back.

"Well, I think that is an excellent plan. Bringing Brody back here is still a good idea." Saul smiled. "Then him and Carrie can live out their lives in peace!"

"Peace?" McCoy gasped "What about justice for killing Walden? What about his suicide confession video?"

Saul shook his head. "Nobody needs to know about whatever Brody did to Walden. Brody was cornered by Nazir and just did what he had to do, to save Carrie. Like I said before, I'd do the same for Mira... or Carrie for that matter! Wouldn't you both do that for someone you love?"

Quinn and McCoy looked at each other and nodded almost imperceptibly. They both understood perfectly that certain rules were made to be broken, when it involved loved ones.

...

"What about the suicide confession video?" enquired Quinn nervously.

Saul shrugged. "We'll make something up along the lines of Brody being kidnapped and forced to make that video by Al-Qaeda. It was just a fake. I think that's more believable than our All-American-Hero, Congressman Brody being a terrorist!"

"What about Estes? How will the public react when they find out that a CIA Director was the real terrorist!" Quinn strained a laugh.

Saul stared at Quinn long and hard before answering. "Yes, who in their right mind would ever consider, or investigate the possibility of a CIA Director being a terrorist?"

Quinn gulped. That_ look _told him that Saul was aware of Dar Adal's theory, about Saul being a suspect. He wondered how much Dar Adal had told him. He suddenly felt ashamed of his covert investigations into Saul's actions.

Saul smiled, pleased his glare had the desired effect of making Quinn squirm for a while. "The public don't need to know about Estes!"

McCoy coughed. "What?! With all due respect, Sir, that is absurd! Brody reappears with his name miraculously cleared and his suicide video declared a fake! Surely the car bomb needs to be pinned on someone, if you don't intend to name Estes?"

Saul frowned before grinning. "I'm sure you would agree that it would be a PR disaster for the CIA, if a deceased Director was to be named as an Al-Qaeda terrorist!"

McCoy begged, "Surely you need to tell the public something?"

Saul shook his head emphatically. "An unknown, nameless enemy is a powerful tool for the CIA right now! It justifies our budget for a start! A new enemy means a larger budget for the War-On-Terror and I could sure use a bigger budget to fund the rebuilding of Langley at the moment. And to hire some new staff, of course!"

Quinn and McCoy smiled.

"Anyway," Saul moved towards the door, "I'm going. Shouldn't you two be setting off soon? You've got an innocent man to bring home, to start his life with Carrie!"

Quinn and McCoy both frowned, before nodding reluctantly.


	7. Chapter 7: Gallóglaigh

_Thanks for all the new reviews! Welcome new readers & followers._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 7**

McCoy drove whilst Quinn sat in the passenger seat and navigated by following Carrie's route on his laptop. The tracking device that McCoy had attached to her car was working perfectly and they could see that she was heading north on the Interstate Highway and was now approximately seventy miles ahead of them.

"What do you think about Estes being the CIA bomber?" McCoy asked solemnly as he turned the radio off.

Quinn sighed and stared out of the window into the darkness, blinking at the occasional headlights that flickered by. He was still processing Saul's shock revelation.

Finally he answered McCoy, gravely. "I think the way Estes used Brody's SUV, he wanted everyone to assume it was Brody."

McCoy pulled a face. "Why would Estes do that? Hardly the actions of a proud Martyr?"

Quinn shrugged. "He was pissed off that I didn't assassinate Brody. I paid Estes a late night visit and told him that I was the guy that kills bad guys. I said if anything happened to a good guy like Brody then he'd find me back in his room one night."

"The guy that kills bad guys?" McCoy snickered. "Perhaps Dar Adal should make you a badge with that on!"

Quinn ignored him and continued. "I think Estes had a lot of reasons to hate Brody. Obviously, Nazir had told him that Brody no longer supported their _cause_. I also think that Estes had some serious issues about Carrie being with Brody. Maybe he tried to frame Brody, just to spite Carrie?"

"How do you think Estes got involved with Nazir?" McCoy's hand started rummaging across for the tube of salt & vinegar flavoured _Pringles, _that Quinn was monopolising.

"Perhaps Roya Hammad was the original connection? Maybe she was the honey-trap that lured Estes fatefully to Nazir?" Quinn pulled out a stack of the crisps and started feeding them one by one to McCoy. "I remember hearing a story from Danny Galvez that he saw Roya and Estes in a restaurant together. I wish I'd checked that out, rather than assuming Galvez had too much to drink!"

Always eager to go off on a tangent about religion, women or alcohol, McCoy distractedly considered the latter part of Quinn's statement as he crunched on the crisps. "I don't think Galvez drinks! You know he's a Muslim?"

Quinn snapped the plastic lid back on the _Pringles_. "I know that now! I'd only just met the guy at the time. There can't be many Muslims named Danny Galvez. I assumed that he was a Guatemalan Catholic."

"Do Catholics drink?" McCoy asked in all seriousness.

"Honestly McCoy! What planet did you grow up on? Is the Pope Catholic?" Quinn hit him on the leg with the cardboard tube and the remaining _Pringles_ rattled. "Of course some Catholics drink! Well they certainly did the last time I visited my father's cousins in Ireland. They're Catholic and drink plenty of whisky and Guinness. When my Great Uncle Patrick drinks, he swears every Quinn in the world is descended from Niall Noígíallach, an ancient High King of Ireland!"

"McCoy chuckled. "You're descended from a King, Peter?"

"A King that helped kidnap Saint Patrick in the fifth century no less!" Quinn smirked and bowed.

McCoy was genuinely impressed with Quinn's historical knowledge. "Wow, that's awesome. Your family have blue-blood running through their veins!"

"Not sure about blue. Irish green maybe." Quinn laughed. "Or perhaps black, from too much Guinness."

"Is there any such thing as too much Guinness?" pondered McCoy cheerfully.

Quinn grinned "How about after this weekend, we go to Maguire's bar downtown and find out?"

"Sounds cool. Will you teach me to how do dance an Irish Jig?" McCoy tapped his foot erratically on the accelerator pedal.

Quinn hit him with the _Pringles_ tube on the shoulder. "Only if you teach me how to dance a Lebanese Dabke!"

McCoy laughed. "It'll take more than two of us to dance a proper Dabke. We'll need a whole line of people."

...

The miles rolled by on their long journey north, on the Interstate Highway through the darkness.

"Do you miss Lebanon?" asked Quinn, interested to find out more about his friend.

McCoy swerved. "Yes. It's a beautiful country. I miss the lovely people and the hustle and bustle of Beirut, it's such a vibrant city. I had some really good fun over there."

"Where are you from originally McCoy?"

"I was born in Boston, but I've lived all over the world with my family."

Quinn wasn't sure what to ask next, so he shared some more of his general knowledge. "You McCoys probably have some Irish blood, like us Quinns. The name _McCoy_ comes from the gaelic name _Mac Aodha_, who was a Celtic pagan god. It means Son of Fire!"

"Son of Fire! Well, that's definitely true, because I'm so fricking _hot_!" McCoy flexed his biceps, before grabbing the steering wheel again and adding more thoughtfully. "My ancestors were Scottish and Irish, or Ulstermen, I think."

"Perhaps they were _Gallóglaigh_?" considered Quinn.

McCoy glanced at him. "Gallowglass? What does that mean?"

"The G_allóglaigh_ were elite mercenary warriors from the Hebrides and other Scottish Isles. They were descendents of inter-marriages between the norse viking settlers in Scotland and the local Gaels. Lots of them moved to Ireland, after losing their lands in the Scottish Wars of Independence. For over four hundred years these young foreign warriors were at the heart of the Irish armies, in many wars against the English."

"Honestly, Quinn... You should be on _Mastermind,_ or _Who wants to be a Millionaire,_ or something. You're a genius!" McCoy was fascinated.

Quinn grinned and accepted the compliment, enjoying having a friend to share his passions and facts with. "Irish history and genealogy is a bit of a hobby of mine. I expect the lovely Miss Mathison has some Irish blood. And probably Brody. That's an Irish surname too."

"So, basically we're _ALL_ Irish, is that what you're saying?" McCoy chortled. "What about Saul? You'll be telling me that he's Irish next?"

Quinn smiled. "No, Berenson is a Jewish name. It means Son of the Bear."

"Bear or bare?" quizzed McCoy.

Quinn pretended to growl. "Definitely bear, as in grizzly."

McCoy laughed. "That doesn't surprise me. Saul's hairy enough to be a bear."

...

McCoy and Quinn drove along in companionable silence for a while. Their conversations had a habit of tangenting off onto random subjects and it kept them both mostly entertained and only irritated on rare occasions. Neither man was particularly used to having a close friend to talk nonsense to, but on the whole they enjoyed each other's company immensely. It gave some light relief from the usual darkness and intensity of the lonely work of killing.

Quinn drifted deep into thought, his mind back on more serious matters.

Eventually he spoke. "I think towards the end, Brody's allegiance to Nazir was purely political. Brody simply hated Walden because of the drone strike that killed Issa. Basically Brody is a good Muslim, and will _never_ be a religious extremist like Nazir was."

McCoy nodded his understanding.

Quinn continued "However, I think with Estes and Nazir, it was about religion as well as politics."

"What do you mean?" asked McCoy

"Do you know that Estes' ex-wife had moved to Palm Beach in Florida and converted to Judaism and married a Jewish man? Estes _desperately_ missed his wife and son, Kenny and hated that Jewish man for stealing them away." Quinn mused, before continuing. "Nazir's and Roya's families were refugees together from Palestine in 1947. Their opinions of Jews was inherited from their parents, whilst Estes' pain was fresher and he somehow ended up on Roya's anti-Semitic, anti-western bandwagon." Quinn paused. "Perhaps that's what Estes and Nazir had in common? I don't know, I'm just guessing. Clutching at straws. Maybe I'm talking crap!"

"Could be all those reasons, or none of them?" McCoy grimaced. "For starters, how do we know for sure that the transcript between Estes and Nazir was even genuine?"

McCoy's thoughts had been on Saul, rather than Estes. "How do we know that Saul hasn't just invented it and typed it up, to take the scent of C-4 explosives and terrorism away from himself. Framing poor, innocent Estes instead of himself?"

"You're such a Conspiracist, McCoy!" Quinn rolled his eyes. "For starters, Saul can't type!"

McCoy laughed.

Quinn became serious. "Sometimes you need to take a leap of faith. Choose who you're going to trust. After weeks of investigating Saul, I found nothing. Nothing whatsoever."

"You never did get on his home computer though?"

"Honestly McCoy, I bet it's just full of photos from Mira's travels in India."

McCoy smirked. "Perhaps the dodgiest thing you'll find on Saul's computer is the occasional visit to a porno site. I wonder what he likes?"

"Stop right there, you're making me feel sick." Quinn playfully punched McCoy on the arm.

"What? Porn makes you feel sick." McCoy was skeptical. He'd recently found a small stash of magazines in the apartment.

"No, the thought of Saul watching porn makes me feel sick." Quinn shuddered. "Honestly McCoy, you weren't in the same room as Saul, when we were eaves-dropping on Carrie and Brody banging in their motel room. Poor Saul, it was excruciating for him and I made it worse by turning up the volume!"

"I bet _you_ enjoyed listening to them banging though." McCoy finally returned the punch on the arm. "Although you'd probably rather have been watching!"

"I'm no _Voyeur_, McCoy." Quinn scowled. "I only watch what I need to see. I would never intrude into someone else's private moment. I'd rather have my own."

"Says the man whose job it is to watch people! Shortly before killing them." McCoy scoffed. "Anyway, when did you last have a private moment, Quinn?"

Quinn grinned and replied cheerfully. "This morning. Alone, in the shower. In case you were wondering why I was in there a while!"

…

After they had both stopped laughing and generally exchanging insults, regarding their lack of success with Carrie, or any other member of the opposite sex, then they became silent again.

McCoy turned the radio on. Taylor Swift shrilly bleated "_I knew you were trouble when you walked in..._"

"McCoy, this song is about you!" Quinn chuckled as he began singing.

_Once upon a time, a few mistakes ago, I was in your sights, you got me alone. You found me, you found me, you found me..._

McCoy joined in and they sang along together, before McCoy jabbed Quinn on the arm. "No it's definitely about you!"

_I knew you were trouble when you walked in. So shame on me now. Flew me to places I'd never been. 'Til you put me down, oh..._

"How do you know all the lyrics?" asked Quinn, confused. "I thought you were into Classical Music!"

_Oh, oh, trouble, trouble, trouble..._

McCoy smiled secretively. "There's a lot of stuff you don't know about me yet, Quinn!"

...

After more singing, laughter and good-natured insults, Quinn checked the screen on his laptop. Carrie's vehicle was still heading steadily north, up the Interstate Highway towards the Canadian border and they were making good ground on her.

McCoy deliberated. "You said Saul was the Son of a Bear, right? And I'm the Son of Fire! So who are you the son of, Quinn?"

Quinn's lips curled coldly, no amusement now in his voice or eyes. "I'm just the Son of a Bitch that kills bad guys." He stroked his handgun holster. "And Brody better not forget that, if he even _thinks_ about messing with Carrie's head or heart again."


	8. Chapter 8: Lac Selby

_Wow, thanks for the reviews and lovely, motivating comments! I enjoyed writing chapter 8, (so perhaps someone out there will like reading it?). P__lease review!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 8**

It had been an extremely long journey north, mostly on the Interstate 87 with only a handful of stops to quickly refuel, go to the toilet, or to swap seats and take turns driving. The road and terrain had changed drastically since covertly crossing over the border into Canada about forty minutes earlier. Quinn and McCoy's banter had ceased long ago. Tension, relating to the unknown elements of their mission ahead, now permeated their confined space.

"We need a plan quickly." Quinn grimaced as the muddy, leaf-strewn road became little more than a narrow dirt track. It further narrowed to basically a footpath that threatened to end shortly. The dark, looming trees closed claustrophobically and aggressively in the headlights. "We still don't know what to expect!"

He glanced up through the dense foliage and gasped at the sight of a trillion silver and violet stars illuminating the perfect indigo night sky. His view was completely unspoilt as there seemed to be no earthly light pollution nearby.

"I think we can safely assume that the terrain is going to be non-urban." McCoy smiled as he slowed down to a mere crawl. "Probably a densely forested locale, similar to this. Possibly a cabin, or small camp of some description and hopefully Brody and Carrie will be alone."

"So do we capture Brody first, then give him and Carrie the good news afterwards?" Quinn grinned cheerfully as a meteor caught his eye. "Or do we all sit down, around the camp-fire, sharing a flask of cocoa and announce to Brody and Carrie the glad tidings that we bring them?"

McCoy scowled as he fought with the steering wheel, his mind racing along the narrow bumpy track ahead.

Quinn suddenly shivered jealously at the thought of Carrie being reunited with Brody. He gritted his teeth to regain his composure. "Then they can come home to Virginia with us and live happily ever after."

"Perhaps we should have brought some back-up." McCoy suddenly looked pale and strained. "A TAC team."

"You look exhausted, want me to drive, buddy?" Quinn pointed at the flailing steering wheel.

"No, this path surely can't go on for much longer. Just keep tracking Carrie's car, closely." Their car lurched wildly as McCoy hit yet another hidden tree stump.

Quinn grasped his bumping laptop. "She's two miles ahead, near Lac Selby and... Oh, she's just stopped moving!"

McCoy killed the headlights and put on some night vision goggles, although dawn threatened to break through the darkest hour soon. "Switch to her cell phone tracker," he growled.

"Stationary. Same co-ordinates as her vehicle. Near the southern shoreline of the lake." Quinn toggled the screen. "So she's either sat in the car, or she's now on foot and has left her iPhone in the car. Fuck."

"Pull up the higher resolution map of that area and double-check her precise co-ordinates again. Quickly!" ordered McCoy.

Quinn tapped on the keyboard, rapidly accessing the alternative view. "It's a small clearing in the woods, not far from the edge of the lake. There's nothing there, oh hang on...There's possibly one tiny building, maybe a shed? A boathouse?" He zoomed in to maximum. "It's a cabin. She must be parked near that wooden cabin!"

McCoy grinned."Jackpot!"

"Hopefully..." sighed Quinn.

...

McCoy gave up on the narrowing leafy track and stopped the engine. "Time to go on foot." They nodded to each other as they both slipped Glock handguns into their holsters and got out of the car.

McCoy opened the trunk and handed Quinn a small black rucksack containing some field kit and ammunition. He slipped an identical rucksack over his own shoulders. They gazed skywards as they pulled their black balaclavas over their heads. Only their matching blue eyes were left exposed and they glinted like aquamarine topazes in the star-light.

…..

Quinn and McCoy route-marched in eerie silence, now both alien-like, wearing night vision goggles over their black balaclavas. Their black combat boots pressed and squirmed into the damp, rotting leaves. They both frequently checked the small GPS tracker that Quinn was carrying.

"You look great in black." whispered McCoy ridiculously.

"Shut the fuck up!" hissed Quinn, stress rising and he elbowed McCoy sharply. "Now is _not_ the time for you to go all Gok Wan fashionista."

Eventually, in the distance, a wooden cabin came into view. They took up positions behind the enormous trunks of two close pine trees and initially looked through their night-vision goggles. They took them off when they realised how well illuminated the interior of the cabin was. It glowed and flickered spookily, organic and life-like within the darkness of the forest. Distant laughter and the sound of water lapping on a nearby shore filled their ears.

"What do you see, buddy?" McCoy glanced at Quinn who was now staring steadfastly through a powerful black scope retrieved from his rucksack.

"I see a beautiful blonde woman... ah yes, it's definitely Carrie in there..." Quinn gasped suddenly. "And _two_ other people!"

"Two?!" McCoy groaned at this unexpected revelation. "Genders?"

Quinn breathed rapidly "One male. Six foot or more. Scruffy, hairy man. Ah, looks like Brody to me... yes, yes it's fucking Brody, alright."

"The other person?" McCoy clenched his jaw, unnerved by the presence of an intruder on their mission.

"I can't see now." Quinn waited patiently as the illuminated figures shuffled around. "Oh there she is..."

McCoy swallowed and gasped. "_She?!_"

"Female. Five foot five, maybe less." Quinn stared at the female form that flitted around like a moth, not staying still for a moment. "What the fuck? Who is _she_?"

McCoy smirked through his balaclava. "Brody's new girlfriend, maybe?"

"He's hugging her now." Quinn grimaced, puzzled. "Maybe he found that little pony-tailed pixie in the forest!"

McCoy stifled a giggle. "Is Carrie beating the shit out of her yet?"

Quinn frowned as he spied. "No, she's laughing. They're _all_ hugging now. Now he's kissing both of them... on their foreheads."

"Maybe Carrie brought her? " mused McCoy. He jumped as a pack of wolves suddenly began howling nearby. He glanced around nervously as their chorus stopped abruptly, before resuming intently.

"It's a possibility. We've only been tracking Carrie remotely," breathed Quinn, concentrating. He was professionally oblivious to the chorus of the wolves. "This is our first eyes on, since she was loading everything except the kitchen sink into her car."

"What are we going to do?" McCoy rubbed his forehead, trying to think. "Knock on the door before they start having a threesome?"

"Oh fuck!" Quinn breathed roughly, "I can see the woman's face now. Oh fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"You know her?" McCoy hissed and grabbed the sleeve of Quinn's black jacket.

"It's not a woman, she's just a girl!" Quinn inhaled sharply, the black balaclava clinging to the angular definition of his cheekbones.

McCoy shook Quinn's arm, his blue eyes glinting impatiently.

Quinn puffed hard as he exhaled. "It's Dana Brody. His teenage daughter!"


	9. Chapter 9: Black Ops

_Thanks for the reviews received for Chapter 8. You're too kind miaNKZW and CSI Encyclopedia! :-)_

_..._

_There's swearing in this chapter._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 9**

Ten minutes later, Quinn and McCoy had carefully assessed the immediate surrounding area and the exterior of the wooden cabin itself, particularly making mental notes of the position of the door and two small windows. They whispered fervently, agreeing the final details of their plan, before putting it into action. Brody was no longer a suspect for the bombing at the CIA headquarters and they were only there to bring him home safely, however, they didn't want to spook him into doing something silly, like killing someone, either accidentally or on purpose. They decided the best approach was to restrain Brody and Carrie first, then explain the actual situation shortly afterwards.

Dana squealed theatrically as the wooden door burst open and the formidable, intruding black-clad figures of Quinn and McCoy lunged upon Brody and Carrie simultaneously before they'd even had a chance to acknowledge reality. Black hoods were shoved over their heads and cuffs and shackles were snapped on in seconds. McCoy sat brutally on the pair of them, whilst Quinn cuffed the now hysterical Dana to the chimney pipe of the unlit stove.

"It's OK, Dana." Dana's terrified squawks almost broke Quinn's long-forgotten fatherly heart and he patted her arm awkwardly. "We're here to help your Dad and Carrie."

"Quinn, is that you? You fucking asshole! What the fuck are you doing here?" The hood muffling Carrie's voice, could not hide the mixture of fear and roaring fury spewing forth.

"Get off my fucking daughter, you psychopathic bastards. I'm going to kill you, Peter Quinn!" Brody writhed wildly, his stomach now depressed under the increasing force of McCoy's black combat boot. "Dana, it's OK, sweetheart. Baby, it's OK, it's me they want..."

McCoy spoke firmly. "Calm down Brody! I'm sorry we had to do this, but we didn't want you to misunderstand and jump to conclusions, then do something stupid in the heat of the moment!"

"Just get off my daughter and I'll come with you." Brody slowly stopped wriggling and his breathing was heavy and resigned. "I've had enough of this damn cabin anyway. I may as well be detained indefinitely without trial in your cell, as sat alone in this Canadian one!"

"No!" Carrie yelled as she squirmed under the weight of McCoy's firm buttocks. "Brody is innocent!"

McCoy reached down and pulled Brody's hood off. He was now confident that Brody was tightly restrained. He removed his own black balaclava and indicated for Quinn to do the same.

McCoy had never seen Brody in the flesh before. He was already familiar with the image of the pale, stressed looking face and strained neck, peeking above a round olive-green collar, on the passport photograph retrieved from the Graphics business. The other more animated version that he was acquainted with was the serious, steely-resolved suicide bomber wearing full US military uniform. McCoy had frequently re-watched Brody's grainy, black and white confession video, that now had several million hits on YouTube.

The real Brody that laid before him looked older, gaunt with a matted red beard and unkempt hair No hint of tan, although his cheeks looked slightly weather-beaten, in the style of a Canadian fisherman.

Quinn lurched forwards and heaved Brody across the floor, closer to Dana, who's sobs and shrieks gradually decreased a decibel. She seemed to find some comfort when her Dad could rest his cheek on her shin.

Carrie's hood was finally removed. Her eyes and mouth wobbled out of control as she took in the scene near her. She started to sob uncontrollably. "He's innocent, Quinn! You're making a big fucking mistake!"

Quinn nodded, trying to convey comfort. "We know, that's why we're here..."

McCoy's eyes were scanning the cabin for signs of any weapons. "There is a TAC team surrounding this cabin," he lied. "So nobody do anything stupid, or we'll all be blown to pieces."

Dana started wailing loudly again. Quinn glared at McCoy for frightening her unnecessarily.

…

"You all need to listen carefully, then your restraints will be removed..." Quinn began.

Carrie was snivelling and shaking uncontrollably, as she laid on the floor. Quinn lifted her gently onto the small couch and tried to make her more comfortable which was impossible with the array of cuffs and shackles. "It's OK, Carrie," he breathed. "Trust me."

She shook her head, petrified. Quinn continued, his eyes full of honesty stared intently at Carrie. "Brody is innocent. The real bomber has been found. Brody can come home with you."

From across the room Brody blinked once, but otherwise showed no response or reaction to Quinn's statement. Carrie's face contorted showing her deep confusion, between her slowing sobs.

McCoy joined in."It's true. Brody is a free man. Saul has uncovered the Al-Qaeda operation behind the CIA bombing and there is no indication whatsoever that Brody is involved."

"Just a fucking suicide video..." interjected Dana, before firmly clamping her lips together. She belatedly realised that her brain was not engaged with what was spewing out of her mouth.

"That video is irrelevant. The Director at the CIA, Saul, has declared it a hoax. It is a very old video. Recorded under duress a long time ago when your Dad was..." Quinn swallowed. "Still a hostage, or still recovering from his ordeal."

For the first time, Brody eyes widened and he twisted his head in Quinn's direction.

"Why all this..." choked Carrie. "Why all this brutal force, if you know he's innocent?"

Quinn sighed. "Carrie, you know this isn't brutality. You know what brutality is! We're just the messengers, but Saul needs Brody back home."

"If he's innocent, Brody can go wherever the fuck he likes! Stay here in Canada if he wants to!" barked Carrie

McCoy shook his head. "Not with his fake passport and drivers licence, he can't."

Carrie gulped and looked nervous again.

"Yeah, we know all about that Carrie, or should I say Ellen." Quinn scowled. "We know about your little visit to Mike, en-route to the border after the CIA bombing."

Carrie looked down, mortified.

McCoy smiled smugly. "We know everything, Carrie. We know why Nazir let you go. We know about Walden..."

"Walden?" Dana piped up. "Finn Walden?"

"No, Bill Walden." Quinn looked daggers at McCoy for saying too much. "But Saul has a plan... let's just say that Saul is letting sleeping dogs lie."

"I don't believe any of this!" Carrie shook her head in disbelief.

"You better believe it! Isn't this what you want?" sulked McCoy. "Brody can come home with you. You don't need to run away together. You can come home, be with Brody and carry on with your job."

"You don't need to run away to make _The Choice_ between Brody and work anymore... Carrie, you can have it all," added Quinn, murmuring.

A flicker of a smile approached Carrie's lips, before she frowned. "Who did it?" The thundering freight train of the CIA Analyst within her could not not be suppressed, whatever the situation.

"Abu Nazir organised it all." Quinn purposefully did not mention Estes role, in accordance with Saul's wishes. He suspected that Saul would tell Carrie everything, but he'd leave that remarkable gem for Saul to convey. "Nazir's _minions_ blew themselves up obligingly."

"Did you kill Finn's Dad?" whined Dana, kicking Brody.

Brody inhaled sharply and looked pained.

"No he didn't." Quinn spoke firmly. "Bill Walden had a bad heart."

"In more ways than one," muttered Brody.

...

McCoy was eager to get moving. "So are you guys going to behave yourselves if we take these cuffs off?"

Dana nodded eagerly. "I promise. Mom and Chris just won't believe that Dad is coming home!"

Quinn studied Carrie carefully as a discordant thought was reflected upon her face.

"Dad, you'll have to stay at Carrie's. Uncle Mike is living at ours now." Dana almost burst with excitement.

Quinn observed Brody swallowing painfully. It was obvious that the thought of Mike fucking Jessica in his own bed, still inexplicably jarred the man.

"Here's the plan." McCoy put his hands on his hips in a manner suggesting that he firmly took control in every situation. "Brody, you're in the car with Peter Quinn."

Quinn and Brody glared menacingly at each other.

"Ladies...Carrie, Diana." McCoy bowed gallantly. "You can have the pleasure of riding with me."

"My name is Dana." She stuck her chin out. "And I'm riding with my Dad, not you!"

"OK," he conceded. "You ride with Quinn and your Dad." McCoy couldn't suppress his grin as he teased. "Carrie, looks like we're riding alone, baby doll."

Quinn clenched his fists and scowled again, so hard that his teeth and jaw almost cracked.

Brody was equally provoked and jerked his cuffed hands upwards. One hand still bore the red scar from where Quinn's knife had impaled it, few months earlier. "I am not going anywhere alone in a car with Peter fucking Quinn!"

Dana smirked. "You won't be alone, Dad, I'll be there."

Brody shook his head at Dana, before glowering at McCoy. "My daughter is not, I repeat, NOT going to travel with Peter Quinn either! The man is a lunatic. He might kill us both!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Quinn fumed simultaneously at McCoy and Brody. He threw his hands up in the air, exasperated. "Brody, Dana, you're both travelling with McCoy..."

McCoy huffed and took his alpha-male hands off his hips.

"Carrie..." Quinn's heart somersaulted with a glimmer of something that he didn't recognise. "You're riding home with me!"

Carrie shrugged nonchalantly and nodded, whilst Brody and McCoy both glared thunderously at Quinn.

"Carrie, love, will you be safe with that deranged maniac?" Brody hissed through his yellow teeth and rattled his handcuffs.

"Brody, I work with Quinn everyday. His behaviour is a lot better these days. I've trained him well." She smiled as Quinn unlocked her handcuffs.

Quinn rubbed her slender wrists gently as he loosened the metal away from her pale skin. "I'm sorry, I had to do this to you."

Carrie smiled and glanced into his blue eyes. "I'm OK now, thanks."

McCoy sauntered over to undo Dana's handcuffs. He grinned at her and she gasped at his kind blue eyes and designer stubble. Dana's demeanour visibly altered as she began to calm down after all the drama and excitement. She now unashamedly eyed McCoy and Quinn appreciatively. "Hey, you guys are actually pretty fit, now you're not so scary. For old men I mean." She ran a finger over McCoy's biceps shyly. "Look at their muscles, Dad!"

Brody grimaced and bit his lip, whilst McCoy, Quinn and Carrie all laughed loudly at Dana's rampant teenage hormones.

"All Black-Ops soldiers need to be super- fit!" McCoy chuckled as he informed Dana of his reason for being so ripped.

"Black-Ops, eh?" Brody straightened himself tall, rubbing his wrists as he glared at Peter Quinn and remembered every detail of their previous encounters. "Soldiers! Not real CIA Analysts or proper Interrogators after all?"

Quinn frowned at McCoy, not comfortable with him bandying their real roles around.

"Wow! Black-Ops? Like Chris's video game? Cool!" Dana was awestruck.

McCoy chuckled. "I love that computer game."

"Maybe you could call over sometime to play it?" Dana lowered her lashes before giggling and smiling sweetly. "Uncle Mike won't play it, he says it's too violent."

"Quinn won't play it either." McCoy laughed. "Well Diana, if Uncle Mike gives permission for me to drop by sometime to play video games, then sure, I'd love to!"

She gasped. "Cool! It's Dana, by the way..."

"My permission," interrupted Brody, growling through his matted red beard. "You'll need MY permission to drop by MY house and play games with MY kids!"


	10. Chapter 10: Southbound

_Thanks for your review of chapter 9, CSI Encyclopedia! :-) Glad you enjoyed it! I'm patiently waiting for the next installment of your story, 'Tonight Tonight'! :-)_

_..._

_Chapter 10 is (cheekily) dedicated to LilMisfit5290. ;-) I'm looking forward to the next update of 'Suddenly'._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 10**

Nobody bothered to tidy up June's cabin at Lac Selby before departing. Carrie said that herself and Brody would fly back up one weekend sometime soon, _to sort everything out_.

_Planning a dirty weekend away, already?_ Quinn imagined, jealously.

Carrie and Brody lingered over their impending temporary separation after such a fleeting reunion. "So the plan is to stop at a motel somewhere on the drive back?" Brody breathed huskily, stroking Carrie's cheek.

"Yeah, we'll see how far we all get, then try and find one." Carrie's eyes twinkled. "I can't wait to snuggle up with you again!"

Quinn felt sick to his stomach and averted his eyes. He glanced at his watch as Brody hugged Carrie and kissed her passionately through his matted red beard, yet again.

Eventually, Quinn couldn't stand it any longer, "Carrie! Come on! We need to hit the road!"

Brody growled as he reluctantly pulled away from Carrie, and glared threateningly at Quinn. "Carrie, just ring mine or Dana's cell phone if you have any _trouble_ with Peter Quinn."

Quinn flashed a fake smile that was designed to intimidate Brody, rather than reassure him.

"And as for you Rude-boy McCoy..." Brody snarled and turned around to face Dana and McCoy who were snickering to each other about something. "Stop eye-fucking my daughter. She's half your age!"

"Dad, you're so embarrassing. I'm seventeen!" Dana snorted and rolled her eyes. "Honestly, Rudy do we have to bring him home? Can't _we_ just drive back together and leave him here?"

Rudy McCoy laughed. "Not a bad idea, but the CIA wouldn't like it. Saul Berenson needs your Dad back in the United States."

…

Finally everyone climbed into the cars that they had been reluctantly assigned by Peter Quinn. McCoy sat in the driving seat of his car, with Brody insisting on sitting alongside him, much to Dana's annoyance as she was banished alone to the backseat. McCoy adjusted his rear view mirror and winked playfully at Dana. She blushed, before childishly kicking the rear of her Dad's seat, repeatedly.

Quinn drove Carrie's car slowly and carefully away from the lakeside cabin and back down the narrow track through the looming trees. They both waved as they passed the others who were sat in McCoy's car which was still stationary. Brody and Dana seemed to be having a minor dispute of some description, whilst McCoy appeared to be laughing at them.

"How long do you think it'll take us to get back home?" Carrie asked, glancing at her watch.

"How long did it take us to get up here?" Quinn yawned. "I can't remember now. Hours? Days? A week? Years? It's all such a blur now! I just know that it took a long, long, long time with McCoy's terrible driving and his bad _knock knock_ jokes making my ears bleed the entire way."

"Yeah, it was a very long drive. My Dad probably would have tried to do it in a few hours and ended up with a stack of speeding tickets," Carrie rested her head back and yawned, "although it was a very insightful journey with Dana as a passenger."

"Insightful?" Quinn snorted. "You mean she taught you everything she knows about One Direction, Taylor Swift, Grumpy Cat and Tumblr?"

No, I mean I understand Dana better now. I feel that we really bonded somehow," Carrie laughed, "which I guess will be useful with Brody coming back!"

"Yeah, you're going to have to get used to playing Step-Mom to Dana from now on."

"Step-Mom?" Carrie shuddered. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Can you imagine me as a Mom or Step-Mom? I'll be the worst ever!"

"Well, Carrie Mathison's _Freaked-out Guide to Motherhood_ is definitely a book that I'd read. Kids need to eat more than out of date yoghurts, you know?! Have you got any experience with kids at all? "

"I see my nieces, Ruby and Josie regularly. Although I'll admit I'm not the best Aunt in the world, I normally show up with a cool present a few days after their birthdays." Carrie rolled her eyes and smiled. "Oh and when I was in Iraq, I got to know a local family really well and they had the most adorable little girl called Far-"

Carrie's tale was cut short by the sound of her cell phone ringing. She dug into her jacket pocket for it and frowned at the screen before answering the call.

"Galvez?" She swallowed. "Oh my God, Danny. You're... you're alive... yet again!"

Quinn smirked as he listened to Carrie's side of the conversation. _This should be interesting_, he thought. He was sure the last time Carrie and Galvez had spoken was when she had mistakenly accosted him at the FBI road blockade. At the time, Galvez had been wearing a sling, bleeding and was face down, eating the dust and rocks on a road. He was surrounded by FBI agents after being stopped on Carrie's orders. She had accused Galvez of sneaking Abu Nazir out of the abandoned mill, with her only preposterous evidence being that _he is a Muslim_.

"Yes, I'm so, so sorry about that Danny..." Carrie bit her lip as she listened. "Yes, you're right it _was_ a ludicrous theory... No, I'm ashamed to say it was all my idea, not Peter Quinn's. Honestly Galvez, I'll do anything I can to make it up to you..."

Quinn raised an eyebrow and glanced at Carrie.

"Well, not _anything _obviously." She frowned. "Yes sure, dinner would be great sometime. I'm going to be busy for a few weeks though..."

Quinn smiled to himself. He was relieved to hear that Galvez had pulled through, _yet again_. After recovering from being shot at the Tailor's Shop in Gettysburg and being accosted at the FBI road blockade by Carrie, Galvez had then been promptly blown up at Walden's Memorial Service at Langley, when the car bomb went off.

"Yes, I'm on the road at the moment. In Canada with Peter Quinn..." She laughed at something Galvez said. "No, no definitely not...he's not my type. Listen I've got to go Galvez, I'll explain everything when I get back... Yes, great to hear your voice too... Stay safe... Stay alive and out of hospital for five minutes if you can!"

_Galvez is the CIA's unluckiest agent_, thought Quinn. He frowned as he realised that Galvez was actually one the luckiest ones. The two hundred dead agents were the unlucky ones.

Carrie laughed loudly at her cell phone and rolled her eyes, "OK Danny... Yes, I promise not to trust him... Yes, I know what he's like. Take care, bye!"

"Galvez?" Quinn raised an eyebrow, quizzically.

"Yeah, great news!" Carrie smiled. "He's finally out of hospital and I'm going to take him out for dinner in a few weeks."

"Will Brody mind?"

"Brody can come along too. I'd like him to get to know Galvez a bit better." Carrie's eyes lit up, "Galvez is quite involved at that community centre next to the Mosque. Perhaps he can put in a good word for Brody, in case there's any jobs going there!"

"What? Like in their library?" Quinn snorted, "I've been over there myself recently to return a few books and I can hardly imagine Congressman Brody dusting shelves in a library!"

"I'm sure Brody will be glad to do anything to keep busy and out of the spotlight," Carrie sighed, "It might be a while before he gets involved in politics again..."

...

The trees and hours rolled by as they travelled south, crossing the border into the United States and speeding towards where they needed to go. They both lost track of distance and time, like daft British tourists who assume that it is possible to drive the length and breadth of many US states in a day without checking the actual scale on their maps.

"What were we talking about? Before Galvez rang?" Quinn mumbled drowsily, before perking up as he accepted the final reviving haribo from Carrie.

"My motherhood skills and Dana, I think?" She yawned. "Quinn, I'm so tired after that long drive up here. I know it's still early, but I think we ought to start to looking out for a motel soon."

"Good idea" Quinn sighed and rubbed his eyes, before rummaging for some more sugary snacks that he'd successfully hidden in the car from McCoy. "Oh yeah, you were saying that you got to know Dana a bit more... with dragging her along on the drive up here?"

"She dragged me along more like!" Carrie grimaced, unwrapping the warm packet of wine gums that Quinn had pulled out of his back pocket. "Once I'd made the mistake of confessing the truth to Dana a few weeks ago, that her Dad was alive, safe and innocent, she just wouldn't let it lie. She pretty much blackmailed me into taking this roadtrip to see Brody!"

"She seems a very determined young lady!" Quinn laughed.

Carrie shook her head. "That's an understatement and a half."

Quinn chuckled. "She was certainly making serious eyes at Rudy McCoy as he was getting into the car!"

"She's only seventeen. He's about thirty eight, I think." Carrie rolled her eyes."Older than me!"

Quinn smiled dirtily. "What were you like at seventeen, Miss Mathison?"

"My father's worst nightmare," Carrie grinned, secretively, "although it didn't do me any harm..."

"Ah, so what sort of relationship advice are you going to give young Dana Brody? Go for it?" Quinn glanced across, suspecting Carrie was reliving a very particular teenage memory, perhaps from an _older men _phase.

Carrie snapped out of her filthy reverie."Are you being serious? McCoy would never..."

Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Wouldn't he?"

"What do you think?" huffed Carrie, "you live with the guy!"

Quinn frowned, "I think Rudy McCoy is... ambiguous. Very honest, but hard to figure out sometimes too..."

Carrie smiled. "He's a very nice guy though..."

"He's a great guy!" Quinn laughed. "If I was a seventeen year old girl I'd be attracted to McCoy too!"

"Me too, I guess!"

"What, only if you were seventeen?" Quinn frowned, "or are you attracted to him, generally?"

"Honestly Quinn," Carrie rolled her eyes, "why do we always end up talking like girlfriends?"

"We're friends aren't we?" Quinn glanced at her, "and you _can_ trust me, no matter what Galvez says!"

"Yeah, I know," Carrie sighed before grinning cheekily,"well all I'll say is that Rudy McCoy is downright irresistible in the looks and physique department!"

"Oh yeah, I quite agree," laughed Quinn, "I just can't keep my hands off him!"

Be careful," Carrie chuckled, "or you'll make Dana jealous! Rudy McCoy is a decent bloke, so let's observe what unfolds. Let nature take it's course, so to speak..."

"As long as Brody doesn't kill McCoy first," Quinn smiled. "Jessica Brody will probably hate him! She'll think McCoy's way too old for Dana."

"Jessica Brody hates everybody, apart from Mr Personality, Mike Faber," Carrie spat, before her brow furrowed in contemplation. "How could Jessica give up a hot stud like Brody for Mike Faber? They're so different!"

"Different?" Quinn snorted, "Brody and Faber both seem like a pair of lame dicks to me!"

Carrie's eyes flashed with anger at the insult of her beloved."You really hate Brody, don't you Quinn? Why is that?"

"I just have this underlying niggle that he might turn terrorist again." Quinn spoke seriously and thoughtfully. "He could still be a latent threat to this country. Who knows who'll be next on his hit list? The President?"

Carrie laughed in disbelief,"You don't honestly believe that, Quinn?"

"Who knows, though, really?" Quinn shrugged, nonchalantly. "You can't see into his fucking soul!"

Carrie flinched, "Yes I can! I _know_ Brody, I know that his heart is good."

"You hope!" Quinn huffed, certain that Carrie was trying to convince herself as much as him.

"Shut up Quinn," snarled Carrie.

"I'll kill Brody if he hurts you again Carrie," Quinn threatened , his more personal jealousy now barely disguised. "The knife won't be just in his hand next time!"

"And you call Brody a threat?" Carrie snorted, angrily. "You're a fucking liability, Quinn!"

"I spared Brody's life, you know?" Quinn gripped the steering wheel tightly,"I was supposed to assassinate him, but I didn't. I couldn't bear to see you suffer..."

"And now I suppose you're regretting that decision?" Carrie snapped, furiously.

"Honestly?" Quinn muttered as he swerved to overtake a rusty pick-up truck. "Yeah, Sometimes I do."

Carrie and Quinn glared at each other, stubbornly refusing to admit that the other might have a valid point and neither of them could actually see into Brody's tortured soul. Their southbound journey progressed slowly and awkwardly in oppressive silence.


	11. Chapter 11: No Answer

_Thanks for your reviews of chapter 10, CSI Encyclopedia and LilMisfit5290! :-) Waiting for updates of your stories too..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 11**

Carrie and Quinn still weren't speaking to each other as another hour rolled by on their long journey south. The Canadian border was now far behind them, as Quinn drove further down the I-87 on their way to Langley in Fairfax county. Carrie irritably pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and started dialling.

"Who are you calling?" Quinn rubbernecked, trying to see the screen.

Carrie tilted her cell phone away from Quinn and glared bitterly, still fuming about his _lame dick_ comment and perpetual distrust of Brody. "None of your business, _asshole_."

Quinn scowled, but allowed Carrie to make her call without further comment. He pressed his foot onto the accelerator pedal to try and ease his vexation with some therapeutic speeding. Carrie frowned after there was no answer on the call she'd just made. She tried another number with no success either. "Oh My God, Quinn!" Her blue eyes widened as she clasped her cell phone to her chest.

Quinn glanced across, grumpily. "What's wrong now, _asshole_?"

"Both Brody and Dana's cell phones are switched off." Carrie tucked her long blonde hair behind her ears, nervously.

Quinn's tapped his fingers thoughtfully on the steering wheel.. "Try McCoy," he ordered.

Carrie dialled McCoy's number and gasped. "No, his cell phone must be off too. It just went straight through to voicemail."

Quinn shrugged, dismissively. "Maybe there's just no signal, wherever they are on the road right now."

"I've got a really bad feeling about this..." Carrie shuddered, looking pale and like she might vomit.

"One of your infamous hunches?" Quinn griped. "Although I'm not knocking them, there's normally something awry when you pull a face like _that_!"

Carrie swallowed and wrung her hands nervously. Quinn sighed and reached across to pat her knee, reassuringly. "Leave it for ten minutes, then try again."

"OK." Carrie exhaled and nodded, before gazing out upon a burned-out trailer that they were just passing, "OK, OK."

…

Quinn put the radio on to try and distract her from her wild and terrible imagination. Unfortunately the song just finishing was a depressingly slow, heartfelt ballad, _Drive_ by _The Cars._

_You can't go on, thinkin nothin's wrong_

_ Who's gonna drive you home, tonight _

_Ohh, you know you can't go on, __thinkin, nothin's wrong_

_ Who's gonna drive you home, tonight..._

Carrie grimaced at her car stereo. Her expression conveyed that she was certain Benjamin Orr's crooning held a deeper significance, other than Quinn just picking a bad radio station. She quickly reached across and pressed a button to change over to the CD player.

To Quinn's astonishment it wasn't Jazz of any sort, but it was _One Direction_ singing _What Makes You Beautiful. _

_Everyone else in the room can see it, _

_Everyone else but you_

Quinn rolled his eyes. He had listened to the exact same cheeky, upbeat track on the long drive with Rudy McCoy up to Lac Selby. McCoy had impulsively bought the CD in a Gas Station en-route and firmly declared that _One Directio_n were now his favourite band. He had never even heard of them until catching their raucous interview on a radio show, half an hour earlier. McCoy and Quinn had seriously debated whether young Harry Styles simply used singing as an excuse to hone his outrageous flirting skills.

Quinn joined in with _One Directions' _singing to try and lighten Carrie's mood. He assumed that she must like the band with having their CD in the player. Quinn recalled the lyrics to _What Makes You Beautiful_ easily, because McCoy had sang the very same song, over and over again, just to wind him up.

_Baby you light up my world like nobody else, _

_The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed, _

_But when you smile at the ground it ain't hard to tell, _

_You don't know, _

_Oh oh, _

_You don't know you're beautiful, _

_If only you saw what I can see, _

_You'll understand why I want you so desperately, _

_Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe, _

_You don't know, _

_Oh oh, _

_You don't know you're beautiful, _

_Oh oh_

Quinn was pleased to see that Carrie was now laughing, possibly at his attempt at singing. She also had a wicked gleam in her eye, although Quinn suspected that there was chance that she was thinking about young Harry Styles, along with his hot boy band buddies.

_That's what makes you beautiful_

Quinn turned the car stereo off, abruptly. _That's quite enough of Harry Styles for now, _he thought, eyeing a film of moisture forming across Carrie's brow.

"How do you know all the lyrics to _that_ crap song?" Carrie burst out in hysterics.

Quinn mumbled, apologetically,"McCoy sang it to me last night. A lot. I'm sorry."

"Well that means McCoy and Dana are going to be getting on like a house on fire!" Carrie snorted with laughter. "It's her CD, not mine, by the way. She must have left it in here."

"Yeah, I was a bit surprised," smiled Quinn, his blue eyes twinkling, "I was expecting to hear some light Jazz."

"Oh, my poor baby Brody!" Carrie groaned. "Months of isolation in a secluded, peaceful lakeside cabin and now he's probably getting tortured by two _One Direction _fans!"

_..._

Quinn gritted his teeth at her mention of Brody, but tried to keep Carrie engaged in a friendly topic of converation. "So what are you most looking forward to... with your _poor baby_ _Brody_ coming back?"

"What apart from the reunion sex?" Carrie smirked, crudely.

_Harry Styles has obviously worked his magic, _Quinn scowled. "I'm not listening to you and Brody fucking in a motel room all night again!"

"Well, that would hardly be appropriate with Dana in tow." Carrie pursed her lips, feeling embarrassed at the memory of Quinn and Saul distantly eavesdropping on her extremely loud moans of intense sexual pleasure.

"Dana probably wouldn't notice anyway!" Quinn laughed. "She'll be too busy sneaking into McCoy's room to listen to his _One Direction _CD."

Carrie didn't smile at all, but frowned and looked anxious. "I'm going to try and call them all again."

…

After a minute of furiously pressing buttons and holding the cell phone against her ear, Carrie became completely hysterical with anxiety. "Quinn, something is seriously wrong! They're still not answering their phones!" Carrie started biting her nails. "Dana and Brody's cell phones are just cutting off altogether and McCoy's is _still_ going straight through to voicemail!"

Quinn considered the various scenarios as he drove. He kept visualising Rudy McCoy and Dana Brody driving off into the sunset with _One Direction_ blaring, whilst a raging Nick Brody was abandoned by the roadside. He stifled a laugh and didn't dare share this vision with Carrie, as she was now tugging her own hair viciously and her face was filled with utter desperation.

Quinn leant over and gently dragged one of her hands away from her hair. "Carrie, calm down. I'm sure they'll all be OK."

Carrie shook her head, screaming. "Quinn, What do we really know about Rudy McCoy? Perhaps he's kidnapped Brody and Dana?!"

Quinn tried to visualise this, but he could only conjure up spoof-like images. "I just can't imagine the real McCoy doing anything like that. He hasn't got a bad bone in his body."

Carrie's eyes were bulging. "But McCoy lived in Lebanon for such a long time, maybe he got involved with Hezbollah?"

"Oh, shut up Carrie! Don't make a fool of yourself, just like you did with Galvez!" Quinn gripped her hand tightly. "You can't just throw out crazy, random accusations about your colleagues because they happen to be Muslim, or have resided in certain countries! It's ignorant!"

"Something is wrong though," Carrie whimpered now, terrified, "something is seriously wrong!"

"Carrie, you're just over-tired. You need some sleep! Maybe take some medicaton?" Quinn checked the Sat Nav to see where they were. "Ring McCoy again. Leave him a voicemail. Tell him we're looking for a motel and we're nearly at..." Quinn checked their precise location on the Sat Nav screen, then pointed out of the window. "Ah look ,we got lucky. Look there's a sign for a motel. Ring McCoy and leave him a message to tell him that we're going to try and get some rooms for everyone there... there at that Budget Inn."

Carrie nodded and breathed, but still looked distressed.

"Carrie, let's just get some sleep for a few hours," Quinn yawned and caressed her hand, gently. "If we still can't contact them, we'll ring Saul and get them tracked down professionally. I don't think it'll come to that though."

Carrie sighed and nodded. "OK. I trust you." She squeezed his hand.

Quinn smiled. "They're probably still sat in the woods at Lac Selby arguing about who's sitting in the front seat next to McCoy!"

Quinn inspected Carrie's face and was relieved to see a hint of a smile appear. "Or perhaps McCoy's loud singing has damaged everyone's cell phones!"

Carrie and Quinn both laughed loudly as they pulled into a parking space in the busy car park of the Budget Inn. They grabbed their bags and walked hand in hand towards the entrance.

Quinn glanced at Carrie, before winking cheekily. "Want me to tuck you into bed tonight?"


	12. Chapter 12: Jack and Jill

_Thanks for your review of chapter 11, CSI Encyclopedia. :-) Thanks for reading this far, everyone!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 12**

Peter Quinn hopped towards the entrance door of the Motel Reception after Carrie had stamped firmly on his foot. "I said _tuck you into bed_, Carrie, not _fu_... Ouch!" Quinn stumbled through the door as his shin was promptly kicked by Carrie.

"I don't need _tucking_ in, or anything else that rhymes with it," Carrie hissed. "All I need is a nice stiff drink inside me before bed."

Quinn knew that cheekily raising his eyebrows could endanger his other shin, but he couldn't help himself.

"Drink!" Carrie shrieked, wide-eyed, "I said drink!"

Quinn smirked before the next assault came. "Sorry... I thought you said _a nice stiff pr_... Ouch! Carrie, please! Stop kicking me!"

...

The young male Receptionist, with curly blonde hair and a name badge that read _Gustav,_ was extremely polite and overly helpful. "We have two rooms left, but instead of a proper en-suite, they have a _shared_ Jack and Jill bathroom in between. You know the type, Sir?" The young man flashed a row of unnaturally white teeth at Quinn. "The bathroom has two doors to make it accessible from either bedroom and both doors have locks to ensure privacy when in use."

"We'll take them both, Gustav," ordered Quinn.

Carrie frowned, "What sort of bedrooms are they?

Gustav smiled and shook his blonde curls, "One is a twin room, it has two single beds. The other bedroom is called a family room. It has two single beds and a sofa bed."

Quinn looked at Carrie, hopefully. "Shall we take the twin? Then if McCoy, Brody and Dana turn up later they can all crash in the family room and hopefully we can get a few hours of undisturbed sleep."

Carrie sighed, before yawning and nodding. "OK, sounds like a reasonable plan. I'll ring McCoy now and leave a message explaining there's a room booked for them here and we'll be right next door."

Gustav smiled at Quinn. "One more important thing, Sir. When you enter the Jack and Jill bathroom, you should always lock the opposite door to prevent unwanted entry from the other adjoining bedroom. Prior to leaving, that same door should be unlocked."

Quinn nodded and tried to tug the key for the twin room from in between Gustav's fingers.

Gustav continued. "Oh and remember when you're in your own bedroom, please lock your bathroom door from the bedroom side. It's important that occupants of either bedroom can use the shared bathroom, but not gain access to the other bedroom."

Quinn tried not to roll his eyes. "Thanks for explaining that Gustav, I'd never have guessed. Technical things... these shared Jack and Jill bathrooms and all these locks."

Gustav beamed. "My pleasure Sir. I hope that you and your wife enjoy your stay here tonight."

"I hope so too, Gustav." Quinn smirked, before gazing longingly at Carrie who had wandered off with her cell phone to leave McCoy a voicemail about the room situation.

...

Upon entering their twin bedroom, Carrie and Quinn familiarised themselves with the complexity of the Jack and Jill bathroom door locking system, before collapsing fully dressed onto their respective beds.

Quinn pulled a hip-flask out of his bag and offered it to Carrie. "Your stiff drink, milady."

Carrie smiled, but declined, "I think I'll stick to water. I need to keep my wits about me if I'm sharing a room with _you_." She pulled a plastic water bottle out of her own bag.

The heating system was blazing and could not be switched off. Quinn spied out of the corner of his eye as Carrie removed her grey sweatshirt and black leggings. He tried not to react as she demurely climbed under the bedsheets and accidentally flashed him with her white vest-top and tiny black lacy knickers.

Quinn stood up and slowly stripped off his jeans and black T-shirt. He bent over and rearranged the pillows on his bed, wearing only his tight black hipster pants. Carrie was not so discreet in her ogling. "You're not planning on flashing me with your pert, naked ass again are you, Quinn?" She snorted loudly. "Like at the hospital after you were shot?"

"You want me to?" Quinn turned round to face Carrie with his hands on his hips.

Carrie's pupils dilated at the sight of Quinn's perfectly toned torso towering over her.

"Yes I wouldn't mind!" Carrie squeaked and gulped, before laughing nervously. "No, no of course not..." She ducked her head underneath her bed sheet.

Quinn sighed and climbed into his own bed. He couldn't get the image of Carrie's black lacy knickers out of his mind and he tossed and turned for several minutes.

...

"Go to sleep, Quinn," grumbled Carrie, annoyed at his shuffling.

Quinn chuckled. "Go to sleep yourself!"

"I can't, I'm too worried about Brody. I'm so scared that something terrible has happened," whispered Carrie.

Quinn frowned, "Carrie, it'll be fine. Trust me."

"I trust you, Quinn," Carrie sniffed.

"I hope I can trust myself," he muttered into the pillow.

"What did you say?" Carrie sat bolt upright in her bed.

Quinn turned away from her, afraid that he might gawp at her flimsy white vest. "Nothing. Go to sleep."

After a minute, he became aware of Carrie getting out of bed. "Where are you going?" he growled, turning over and trying not to stare at her perfect feminine rear. He hadn't realised that her black lacy knickers were quite so skimpy.

Carrie sounded tense, "I just want to try and ring Brody again."

"Leave it Carrie!" grumbled Quinn, sitting up in bed properly.

"No!" Carrie grabbed her cell phone off the small table and dialled. She threw the phone down on Quinn's bed in frustration when there was no answer. She quickly grabbed her phone again. "I'm going to ring Saul and Dar Adal."

"Carrie, this is unnecessary..." Quinn jumped up, angrily and snatched the cell phone off her. "We've already agreed to ring Saul in a few hours if we still can't get in touch with McCoy or Brody!"

Carrie made a grab for her cell phone and when Quinn held it high out of her reach, she slapped him hard on his bare chest. Seeing the red mark that she'd made with her palm, her eyes widened, mortified "I'm so sorry." She reached out cautiously and stroked the mark gently. "Honestly, I'm so, so sorry..."

Quinn backed away from Carrie's electric touch before he exploded. "It's fine." He turned her phone off and shoved it into his rucksack. "Get back into your bed, now."

"No..." Carrie's eyes were burning as she took a step towards him. "Kiss me..."

"No Carrie," Quinn turned his back on her, but he froze as he felt her hand caressing his shoulder.

"Please, just a kiss... it's just seeing you, like this... again." Carrie ran her hand down the side of his tight black hipsters, before slipping a finger under the edge of the waistband, "Oh God, Quinn..."

Quinn spun round and pushed her away with his eyes blazing. "What about Brody? Not exactly fair on him is it? He's given up his wife and kids for you Carrie!" He took a step backwards. "Or is that the problem? It's all going to be too easy now that he's not a suspected terrorist or married to someone else? You're bored of him already and seeking a new thrill?"

Carrie looked hurt, but Quinn was on a roll. "What are you going to do if Brody decides to go back into politics? You're going to have to be the perfect girlfriend and be on your best behaviour. Yes, you'll have to be that perky step-mom to Dana and Chris and play happy families!"

Carrie looked down at the floor, but Quinn stepped forward and lifted her chin with his index finger, "I'm not a betting man, but I'll put money on you breaking Brody's heart within a few weeks."

Carrie slapped Quinn firmly across his cheek and grabbed her clothes. "I thought this was what you wanted? I'm sorry if I misunderstood!" She headed towards the door.

"Oh no you don't..." Quinn grabbed Carrie by the wrist and held on tightly, whilst he rummaged in his rucksack. Triumphantly, he pulled out a set of handcuffs and shoved her over onto her own bed. They wrestled as he snapped one cuff on her wrist and attached the other end onto the metal bedpost.

Carrie screamed, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear, anger and arousal "What the fuck are you doing?"

Quinn stood up and looked down at Carrie, restrained on the bed. He was fully aware that she was gazing directly at the straining within his tight black hipsters. "Well, it's pretty obvious how I feel, but you're in a fucked-up relationship with Brody and I'm going to bed," he inhaled. "Now go to sleep, Carrie."

"You can't handcuff me to a bed and expect me to sleep!" Carrie taunted, flirtatious again. "Brody's not here, so what am I supposed to do if I get an itch that I can't scratch myself?"

"Scratch it yourself, then!" Quinn yelled as he bent down and unlocked her handcuffs. He carried them over to his own bed. "But if you dare get out of bed, you will be handcuffed again I'm not joking. You have been warned."

...

A few minutes passed as they both laid confused and panting on their own beds.

Carrie spoke first, her voice shaking, "I'm so sorry Quinn. I don't know what came over me then... I'm just over-tired, acting a bit crazy... I'm just so worried about Brody."

"It's OK, just stay in bed and go to sleep," pleaded Quinn.

Carrie replied firmly, "I will. I promise not to jump on you again."

Quinn laughed, half-relieved and half-disappointed. "Just go to sleep."


	13. Chapter 13: Self Restraint

_Thanks for your reviews of chapter 12, CSI Encyclopedia & LilMisfit5290. :-) Glad you enjoyed it!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 13**

Exhaustion finally claimed Carrie and Quinn and as agreed they stayed in their own single beds and slept. The small lamp on a central bedside cabinet had remained on and shone dimly, unlike the sweltering Motel heating system that had gone off at some point during the night.

Some hours later Quinn stirred as he became aware of something, or someone moving near his bed. He opened his eyes and saw that it was Carrie wearing her grey sweatshirt and fumbling for her black leggings. It appeared to Quinn that she had her eye firmly on the bedroom door and in his half-asleep daze he suspected that Carrie was planning some sort of Saul-telephoning escapade, yet again.

Quinn instinctively grabbed Carrie around her slim waist and yanked her firmly down onto his bed. "Oh no you don't! I warned you!"

He grimaced as he handcuffed her right wrist onto the right bedpost to restrain her from going anywhere. They wrestled half-playfully and half-serious for a moment before finding themselves both drawn into an instinctive, awkward panting hug.

"Quinn, you idiot, I was just cold! I was looking for another duvet, but there isn't one, so I put my sweatshirt on over my vest. I wasn't going out anywhere, I swear!" Carrie shivered and laughed, "I'm still bloody freezing though."

"Sorry, you're right, it is really cold now," Quinn breathed a sigh of relief before chuckling, "here let me warm you up." He kept his arms around Carrie, who still had her wrist handcuffed and he carefully manoeuvred her onto her right side, pulling her rear towards him. They snuggled underneath the duvet, pretending to chastely share body heat. Quinn turned the bedside lamp off in their joint charade of attempting to get some more sleep. Within thirty seconds they were both acutely aware of each other's rapid heartbeats and shallow breathing. Quinn certainly couldn't control the physical manifestation of his rising desire.

"Quinn, is that a handgun in the bed, or are you just pleased to see me?" Carrie joked and grinded her hips teasingly against him.

"Stop it Carrie..." Quinn gritted his teeth, "I'm only human."

"Nobody will ever know!" Carrie turned around, as best she could given the handcuff situation. Her breathing became even shallower as she stroked her free hand across Quinn's cheek. "Seems I've got that itch back and I really can't scratch it myself this time."

Quinn sat up sharply and pinned her uncuffed wrist down onto the soft pillow.

"Stop it Carrie! You'll soon be swanning around Langley with Brody, playing happy families and I'll be driven _insane_ with the memory of sleeping with you," growled Quinn.

Carrie pouted, "I'm not asking you to sleep with me..."

"Yes you are!" Quinn jumped up and unlocked her handcuffs, before striding towards the Jack and Jill bathroom, in his tight black hipsters. "Like I said before... scratch your own itch! In an hour, you'll be pleased that I had enough self-respect and restraint for the pair of us!" He flicked the wall-switch to turn on the bathroom light and put his hand on the bathroom door handle, opening the door just a fraction.

"Where are you going?" Carrie sat up in bed, frustrated.

Quinn hissed, "To sleep in the other bedroom!"

Carrie looked miserable, before a smile spread across her face. "You can't get through into the other bedroom via the bathroom!" She laughed triumphantly, "I checked last night and the door into that bedroom is locked."

"I'll just sleep in the damn bathroom then," Quinn grumbled, "or have a cold shower!"

"Quinn?" Carrie whispered, huskily. "Just one little kiss, Quinn..."

Quinn turned round to see Carrie illuminated in the glow from the bathroom light. She seductively removed her grey sweatshirt, before her flimsy white vest was also discarded. He inhaled at the sight of her beautiful bare skin. The devil himself could not have provided a greater temptation at that moment. Quinn gritted his teeth and glanced determinedly towards the cold, stark fluorescent retreat of the bathroom. However, he was unable to stop himself from turning back round to view Carrie's lithe naked form, just one more time.

"It would be our little secret." Carrie was staring hungrily at him. "Or would you rather just watch me as I scratch my own itch?"

Quinn paused, fighting a crazed battle against desire as he observed Carrie licking her index finger and trailing it lightly on her neck and down across her pale décolletage, never losing eye contact with him. He exhaled slowly and switched the bathroom light off. He stepped back into their dark bedroom, knowing full well it was probably the best and worst decision of his life.

"Oh Carrie..." Quinn did not resist as he felt Carrie pulling him down onto the bed and wrestling him onto his back. She deftly snapped the handcuff around his right wrist and attached him to the bed post.

"This type of restraint is much more fun than self-restraint," Carrie whispered wickedly to Quinn in the darkness.

...

After a few blissful minutes, the photoreceptors in the retina of Quinn's closed eyes detected a sudden change in light levels within their bedroom. He opened his eyes and squinted to see a shadowy figure standing backlit in the bathroom doorway.

Quinn gasped and tried to sit up as the silhouette darted swiftly into the bathroom. The door slammed shut and it was promptly locked from within.

Quinn's sudden movement and the sound of the slamming door made Carrie's face raise up from her slow teasing trail down Quinn's chest and abdomen. Her tongue had been lingering over his gunshot scar that was on his toned _Rectus abdominus _muscle.

"What was that?" Carrie panted, licking her lips.

Quinn whispered for her to cover herself with the bedsheet and stay quiet. They listened nervously to the bumping and rattling coming from within the bathroom, where a faint fluorescence was glowing through the half-inch gap beneath the closed door. The toilet flushed and they heard water running in the basin.

In the faint glow, Carrie looked at Quinn with dismay. He gestured for her to unlock his handcuffs. Carrie's hands were shaking as she obliged. Quinn promptly reached for his Glock handgun and approached the bathroom door. His finger trembled on the trigger as he heard the bolt sliding open on the other side of the door. Suddenly there was a loud click and the fluorescent glow emitting beneath the closed bathroom door was extinguished and accompanied by departing footsteps and the sound of a different door opening, then banging closed.

Quinn exhaled and realised that whoever had been in their shared Jack and Jill bathroom had now exited through the other door and returned to the adjoining bedroom. He turned his back on the bathroom door and paused, staring into the gloomy darkness of their bedroom, before whispering hoarsely. "Put the bedside lamp on Carrie!" Quinn heard her clattering and eventually the lamp was switched on, illuminating their seedy boudoir.

Carrie stared at Quinn with confusion before turning away, mortified. She quickly slipped her grey sweatshirt back on. "Who was that?"

"How should I know!" growled Quinn, his heart still pumping.

Carrie's eyes widened with terror. "Do you think it was..."

"Brody?" Quinn spat. "Probably, knowing my luck!"

Tears welled in Carrie's eyes. "What have I done?" She put her head in her hands.

"I knew no good would come of... _this!_" Quinn looked anguished and waved his hand at the bed and the pair of handcuffs still dangling from his bedpost.

Carrie looked up fearfully, her face full of regret. "What have I done?"

"Maybe it wasn't Brody? Maybe it was Dana or McCoy?" Quinn scowled, then relented at the sight of her desperately troubled face. "Maybe it was just a house-keeping maid?"

"House-keeping?" Carrie sniffed, "in a Motel like this?"

"Maybe it was Gustav the Receptionist washing his blonde curls?" Quinn shrugged. "I just hope it was anybody except Brody, or my number's up!"

"Oh Peter, I'm so, so sorry. I'm such a selfish bitch." Carrie wrapped her arms around herself.

"You're too damn horny for your own good, that's all!" Quinn sighed, "We're in deep shit, Carrie."

She snapped "I know! Tell me something I don't know, Quinn!"

"I like the way you lick me!" Quinn arched an eyebrow, teasingly. "Want to carry on with our unfinished business?"

"Shut up, you idiot!" Carrie hissed. She licked her lips slowly, before glancing nervously at the bathroom door. "Let's just hope it was house-keeping. We must never speak of this _ridiculous incident_ again!"

Carrie and Quinn glared angrily at each other with an uncommon mixture of disdain, frustration and desire.


	14. Chapter 14: Sticky Table

_Thanks for your review of chapter 13, CSI Encyclopedia! _

_A big 'Hello' to all other readers too! Please don't be shy, your reviews would REALLY give me the boost I need right now... to persevere with some challenging writing ahead..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 14**

After their respective showers and checking-out of the Budget Inn, Carrie and Quinn strolled silently across the car park in search of breakfast. Each was careful to ensure that a respectable colleague-like distance was strictly maintained between themselves. They exchanged horrified glances when they saw Rudy McCoy's car, parked in the space right next to Carrie's.

"They made it here then," whispered Quinn, a flicker of guilt in his gut. He wasn't afraid of any confrontation with Brody, _if he had seen anything._ He knew that he could kick Brody's ginger butt any day_, _but his singular concern was for Carrie and how Brody might behave with her. Quinn knew that if necessary then he would take full responsibility and say that he had seduced an unwilling and innocent Carrie in the Motel. He wasn't exactly sure how he would explain to Brody as to why _he_ was the one handcuffed to the bedpost.

A rusty bell attached to the glass door tinkled, as Carrie and Quinn entered the Pancake House. Dana Brody glanced up from a formica table that she was sharing with Rudy McCoy, who had his broad back to them. "Well look what the cat dragged in," was Dana's unfriendly and sullen greeting.

"Hi Dana," Carrie smiled nervously.

Rudy McCoy looked over his shoulder and smirked, "Hey guys...Did you have a good night?"

Carrie took a deep breath, "Good morning, Rudy." She looked around. There was no sign of Brody.

"Where's Brody?" spat Quinn, flashing a concerned glance at McCoy, hoping that he hadn't allowed Brody to go AWOL.

A large newspaper was slowly lowered from the adjacent table across the aisle. "Right here." Brody's burning blue eyes assessed Quinn dangerously, before he smiled at Carrie. "Good morning, love." He stood up and hugged her.

Carrie swallowed and forced the corners of her mouth upwards. "You've shaved, my sweet." She stroked Brody's newly smooth jaw line.

Brody kissed her fingers. "Yeah, luckily McCoy had a spare razor. I did it in the Motel bathroom this morning."

Carrie glanced across at McCoy, "You've shaved too!"

McCoy rolled his eyes as Dana piped up, "Yeah, I said that stubble made him look too old, so he shaved it off. For me!" Dana reached over the table to stroke McCoy's face, mimicking Carrie's caress of Brody.

McCoy stood up abruptly and addressed Carrie and Quinn. "You guys want some coffee? We've got a massive pot. I'll just go and ask the waitress for two more cups."

Carrie nodded and McCoy strode off towards a red-haired waitress. Brody quickly escorted Carrie away from Quinn's side and sat her down into the plastic seat next to his. Brody glared at Quinn, warning him not to even consider joining them at their table.

Quinn lingered in the aisle, tempted to sit directly opposite Brody just to wind him up. However, when Carrie and Brody started lovingly entwining fingers, Quinn felt rather nauseous, so he plonked himself next to Dana. "Mind if I sit here?" he mumbled.

"Sit where you like," was Dana's curt response. She did not glance up from the iPad that was laid on the table, next to her untouched plate of toast. Her finger swipes across the touch screen were aggressive and fast.

Quinn was relieved when McCoy sauntered back to the table clinking two empty coffee cups.

"What are you looking at Dana? Another cat video on YouTube?" McCoy chuckled and squinted at the screen as he sat down, passing Quinn a cup.

"Yeah, I may as well make the most of the free WiFi!" Dana giggled and pushed the iPad across the table to McCoy. "Here... Watch Grumpy Cat. She's _so_ adorable!"

McCoy obliged Dana for a few seconds. "Hey I've seen this cat before," he smiled. "There's some postcards in the shop window next door with the same cat on!"

"Really!" Dana jumped to her feet and slouched across the aisle, whining, "Dad can you lend me some money?"

Brody patted his pockets. "Sorry Dana. I've only got Canadian dollars."

"Here..." McCoy pulled twenty dollars out of his jeans pocket and shook it towards Dana, "Go and have a look at those postcards. Buy one for Chris and Uncle Mike."

...

After Dana had skipped giddily out of the Pancake House, McCoy smiled at Quinn and raised an eyebrow. "Get any sleep, buddy?"

Quinn glanced sideways at Carrie and Brody and saw that they were sickeningly engrossed with feeding pancake crumbs to each other. Quinn's voice was barely a whisper as he confidentially leant across the table to McCoy. "Did you come into our Motel room, early this morning?"

McCoy's lips twitched. "Why do you want to know?"

"Just tell me!" Quinn shot him a blue laser glare.

McCoy grinned and whispered. "Why? Was something _inappropriate_ going on?"

Quinn's blue eyes pierced McCoy's and he pressed his index finger against his lips. "Shhh..."

McCoy raised his eyebrows. "You weren't handcuffed to the bed or something were you?"

Quinn grimaced and nodded, almost imperceptibly.

"Oh My God!" McCoy burst out laughing, before slicing his index finger across his throat theatrically. "You're a dead man walking," he mouthed, sneaking a glance across at Brody.

Quinn poured himself a cup of coffee, satisfied that he had correctly interpreted that his trusted side-kick and friend McCoy, had been the voyeur, backlit in the bathroom doorway.

...

Quinn and McCoy continued talking about anything and everything that they could think of. Carrie and Brody's ongoing public displays of affection were making their stomachs turn.

"It's weird seeing you with more stubble than me!" laughed McCoy.

"Forgot my razor," mumbled Quinn, as he sipped his coffee.

"Remembered your dick though, buddy!" McCoy whispered, his eyes flitting over towards Carrie.

"That's enough, OK?" Quinn glared at him, warningly."That _ridiculous incident_ is not to be discussed again."

Although McCoy nodded his acknowledgement. Quinn could see the thousand filthy questions brimming within him and he knew he had to distract McCoy quickly, with more mundane matters.

"How come you guys weren't answering your cell phones yesterday?" Quinn asked, curiously, "Carrie was going out of her fucking mind!"

"The batteries had died in Dana and Brody's cell phones. Dopey Dana had left her charger in Carrie's car and Brody had left his charger back at June's cabin in Canada." McCoy rolled his eyes.

"What about your cell phone, though, McCoy?" Quinn snickered, "Carrie said that it was going straight through to your voicemail."

"Really?" McCoy momentarily looked puzzled and pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. He stared at the screen and grimaced in realisation. "Oh damn, I'd forgotten all about diverting my incoming calls to voicemail. I set it like that before we got out of the car at Lac Selby. I must have forgotten to turn the call diversion off." He pressed a few buttons and laughed, "Hey, I've got about a million missed calls from Carrie!"

Quinn frowned. "How did you find this Motel if you didn't receive Carrie's voicemail messages?"

McCoy smiled. "Easy! I had your laptop in the car and Carrie's car still has the tracker fitted on it, so we tracked you down remotely! The wonders of technology!"

"_We_ tracked?" Quinn grimaced. "You let Brody or Dana use my laptop?"

"Dana was in charge of your laptop and the car tracking," McCoy chuckled, "although I'm afraid that you'll probably find lots of _One Direction_ and cat videos in your browser history!"

…

A beautiful, middle-aged waitress with cropped red hair appeared at their table. She winked at McCoy, then eyed Quinn appreciatively. "Would your handsome friend like to order some breakfast?" she grinned, teasingly.

Quinn frowned at the unexpected compliment, "Yeah, just pancakes with some syrup, please."

The waitress giggled and her green eyes sparkled, "Syrup? Just like your friend had! Although you're both sweet enough already, I'm sure." She wrote the order on her notepad, before turning round to Carrie and Brody's table.

"And _you_?" The waitress had no saccharine compliments for Carrie, who was now snuggling onto Brody's chest.

"Just toast, please." Carrie sat up and scowled across at Quinn and McCoy who both appeared to be ogling the pert rear of the waitress. "And more coffee, if it's not too much trouble. This is stone cold."

The waitress sashayed away pertly, with her pretty nose in the air.

"I'm not leaving without _that_ sassy babe's number," chuckled McCoy. "Red-heads are the new blondes in my book."

…

Carrie frowned as she leant forward across the sticky table and Brody stroked her back. "You guys... Brody and I were just discussing travel options for the next stage of our journey home..."

Brody smirked at Quinn, triumphantly. "Yes, Carrie would like to ride home with _me_ from now on." He shot a cold glare at McCoy, "Me and Dana of course!"

McCoy shrugged. "Fine by me. I assume that you can all be trusted to go directly back to Virginia? No detours?"

Brody eyed Quinn, boldly, "Yes I'll be more than safe... in Carrie's capable hands."

Quinn observed Brody carefully, momentarily doubting his assumption that McCoy had been the backlit voyeur in their Motel room.

Brody put his arm territorially around Carrie's shoulders, "I'm sure Carrie can always restrain me with her feminine charms or some handcuffs, if necessary!"

Quinn saw Carrie flinch. He prayed that Brody's choice of words were simply a coincidence.

…

The bell on the Pancake House door tinkled as Dana came bounding back in, "I've got Grumpy Cat postcards and I even got this..." She proudly dangled a cheap plastic key ring bearing Grumpy Cat's photograph. Brody rolled his eyes, clearly out of touch with his teenage daughter's obsessions.

"Cool!" McCoy humoured Dana, whilst discreetly trying to see the beautiful, red-haired waitress out of the corner of his eye.

Brody strained a smile at Dana, "Darling, we're going to drive back with Carrie for the rest of the journey. Isn't that great?!" He eyed Quinn and McCoy contemptuously. "These soldiers can make their own way back in their car together."

Dana stamped her foot. "No way, Dad! I want to ride back with Rudy McCoy. I don't want to play gooseberry to you and Carrie!"

McCoy shrugged, nonchalantly, "Sure! You can ride with me and Quinn, if you prefer?"

Brody stood up assertively and hissed. "Do you seriously believe that I will allow my seventeen year old daughter to get into a car on her own, with you seedy pair?"

"Dad!" screamed Dana, "I'll make my own decisions! I really want to ride with Rudy!"

…

Quinn snapped as the bickering continued and he threw Carrie's car keys down on the table. "Tell you what... you four _lovebirds_ can all ride back together and I'll..." He beckoned to McCoy for the keys to the other car, "I'll drive back alone. I really need some fucking peace!"


	15. Chapter 15: Air of Hopelessness

_Thanks so much for your review of chapter 14, CSI Encyclopedia! :-)_

_Sorry that this is a shortish update, but I'm just psyching myself up to continue with the next few chapters that are proving rather difficult for me to write. This is because they are so completely different to anything I've attempted before. I feel scared and I'm going to unashamedly beg for reviews and feedback. Maybe you'll all hate it, maybe you'll love it... either way I'll just do my best!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 15**

As Peter Quinn pulled out the parking lot alone, driving Rudy McCoy's car, he tried to recall the expressions on the other's faces as he'd strode angrily out of the Pancake House.

McCoy had looked mildly irritated, but resigned, obviously not as keen on travelling with Dana again as she probably hoped he was. Nick and Dana Brody had worn matching triumphant scowls, both appeared to be delighted that Quinn was leaving.

Quinn considered Carrie's strange mixed expression as he had departed. Her face had been the hardest to interpret. Was it a look of relief? _Possibly._ Fear? _No._ Disappointment? Angst? Concern? _Not likely._ Help me? You're the one that I really want to be with! I want to lick your scar again! _No, no, no! I'm imagining all of those._

Quinn pressed his foot harder onto the accelerator pedal. _Carrie fucking Mathison, get out of my head before I am driven insane!_

…

The miles flowed by and Quinn's tears of frustration flowed even faster. He had never felt such an air of hopelessness before and it had been years since he'd cried over anything. Quinn knew that what had happened in the Motel earlier, really was just a one off _ridiculous incident, _as Carrie had so dismissively described it. It would never be repeated. So much for her begging him for _one little kiss_... they hadn't even kissed. She had just handcuffed him to the bedpost and whispered, _"Do not resist, do not move."_ Then she, as his rampant captor had starting licking him, as if trying to devour him with her warm and moist tongue. Carrie had licked him teasingly at first, starting at his chin, moving slowly down his neck to his chest. Then more passionately as she had glided down and across his stomach muscles, lingering on the scar from his gunshot wound incurred at the Tailor's shop in Gettysburg.

Quinn frowned._ My scar, why was she so turned on by my scar? _He felt a pang of jealousy as he imagined Carrie's tongue and hungry touch on Brody's numerous scars, inflicted whilst he was held hostage for eight years. _Maybe that's why she loves Brody so much? He's so damaged, so scarred, so authentic. Maybe Carrie thinks that she's living in some sort of twisted romantic thriller novel and she can make everything OK for him? _Quinn felt a surge of anger. _Scars? I could show her fucking scars! I might only have one on my stomach, but I have plenty more inside here. _He tapped the side of his head.

Quinn moved his hand down from his temple and touched his stomach and wondered what would have happened next if Carrie and himself hadn't been spied on by _the backlit voyeur from the bathroom; _McCoy, Brody or Dana or whoever it really had been. He moved his own finger, imagining Carrie continuing her teasing trail down to the lower part of his abdomen. He knew exactly where her tongue would have ended up eventually. He swerved on the road as it became too much to even contemplate.

Quinn didn't even care anymore who had seen him restrained for Carrie's frivolous pleasure and at her mercy. What did it matter now? Carrie had made her unshakeable love for Brody, perfectly clear to all in the Pancake House. She had made her choice obvious to the whole world.

_Choice?! _Quinn scolded himself. _I was never even an option. I was just in a Motel bedroom with Carrie at the wrong time. _His heart begged to differ._ It was the right time... it was only a few minutes, but it was so perfect and so right until you were disturbed._

_No! _Quinn let his mind have it's say. His brain was the only part of himself that he trusted right now. _You deserve to feel like shit. You had a fumble with a woman whose heart clearly belongs to someone else. What did you expect the outcome to be?_

_..._

For Carrie's sake, a part of himself prayed that he was right in his interpretation that it had been McCoy who had seen himself and Carrie romping in the Motel. He could cope with McCoy's saucy questions. If it had been Brody, then he hoped Carrie would be able to sweet talk him out of any retribution. Quinn knew that Brody still hated him ever since their first meeting; an interrogation with a hand stabbing incident wasn't exactly the foundation of a firm friendship. Quinn understood that he couldn't exactly expect an attitude of gratitude from Brody, since he still had no idea that Quinn had spared his life, despite Estes' orders.

Quinn's rational mind battled with the mocking voices screaming at him from his forlorn heart, his tortured soul and his desolate dick. It was hopeless. He was outnumbered. They all shouted the same message loud and clear. _You've fallen hook, line and sinker for Carrie Mathison, but she'll never fall for you, you loser! She loves Brody; end of story!_

…

Quinn decided to take a detour. He couldn't face Langley and the furore and celebrations of Brody's second miraculous return just yet. He also wanted to get his head straight before being in close proximity with Carrie again. He altered his Sat Nav and headed for his swanky suburban home town of Wayne in Pennsylvania, located on the Main Line near Philadelphia.


	16. Chapter 16: Philos Adelphos

_Thank you dearest reviewers, from the bottom of my heart, for your reviews of chapter 15... CSI Encyclopedia, LilMisfit5290 and "A" ...your reviews really kept me going, so thank you, thank you, thank you...!_

_Here is the first of a few chapters that I found pretty tough to write... although to be honest this one was easier than the next few... they're killing me, but I'm persevering anyway. Let me know what you think?_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 16**

Peter Quinn's surprise visit to his formidable and wealthy mother, who still resided in an exclusive tree-lined cul-de-sac in Wayne, went about as well as he could have predicted. Mrs Genevieve Quinn grimaced over her gold-rimmed glasses at his strange boots, black clothes and hint of stubble, before assertively ushering him into the kitchen. She offered him Darjeeling leaf tea out of a dainty china cup, although neither the tea leaves, nor the cup was from her most precious collections. Genevieve didn't like unexpected visitors and she kept her son, Peter, firmly ensconced in her gourmet kitchen. She had quickly decided that he certainly didn't look smart enough to enter one of her more formal reception rooms for entertaining. He wasn't even wearing a blazer for goodness sake. Genevieve eyed her creamy marble kitchen worktops nervously as her son's decidedly unmanicured fingernails tapped away, whilst she slowly and carefully completed her precise tea brewing ritual.

Genevieve didn't really understand what on earth her son, Peter, did for a living. She recalled that he had chosen to leave her grand colonial-style home about eight years ago after Harvard and had joined the US Army or something ridiculous like that, then disappeared overseas. Genevieve's husband had successfully shielded her from the most embarrassing details of the vile matter. She was vaguely aware that Peter seemed to be involved in something else these days. Her other sons had speculated wildly; _perhaps he was a spy? Or a terrorist?_ Genevieve Quinn didn't really want to know anyway. The bottom line was that he wasn't anything remotely high-powered, like his brothers, so whatever he did was unimportant from her perspective. How embarrassing to have a son who wasn't a successful businessman or a lawyer. Peter was certainly the black sheep of the family. An oddball. Although he could be reasonably charming when it suited him, Genevieve didn't see him very often and she preferred it that way. She shivered, _Whatever would her girlfriends at the Country Club make of him? _Although she suspected that a few of the more cougar-like characters would probably pounce on her mysterious and handsome son in a flash. She could not deny that Peter was still a fine-looking boy, even though he had chosen to oust himself from her high-society circle of family and friends.

"What a waste of a good degree from Harvard!" Genevieve Quinn sniffed haughtily and her pale eyelids momentarily veiled her sharp blue eyes. "Have you any idea how hard your father had to work to pay for your studies at Hill School and Harvard?"

Peter Quinn rolled his eyes and his gaze drifted through the enormous arched window to the vast oval swimming pool outside on the bluestone brick terrace. "Why don't you remind me again Mother? Like you do every time you see me!"

Quinn wished that he could throw his mother into the chlorinated water, to try and wash away some of her pretentious airs and graces. He already knew what was coming and he certainly didn't give a damn about her opinion of his wasted degree or the snooty young hearts that he'd apparently broken by leaving the fine society of Wayne. He couldn't care less about his apparent tarnishing of the good name of the Quinn family either. They all lived on a different planet to him.

Genevieve Quinn's lecture had continued for the best part of half an hour, before her son couldn't take it any longer. Peter knew all the words by heart already and there was only so long that he could keep himself entertained by scrutinising the smart elderly gardener who was wearing a shirt and tie, whilst leisurely driving the red ride-on mower up and down the three acres of formal lawns. Quinn was also getting hungry. He thought about asking his mother for a _hoagie_, just to watch her squirm at his use of local city slang, but he decided that his mere blazer-less presence had probably tortured her enough for one day.

"Well, until next time, Mother dear!" Quinn yawned and stood to depart. He gently laid his palms on the padded shoulders of Genevieve's emerald silk blouse and kissed each of her prominent, overly-taut marble cheekbones in turn, whilst she flinched at his stubble.

"You're not coming here for Christmas are you?" Genevieve tossed her immaculate auburn bob and pursed her fuchsia lips. "It's just your brother will be here with the children and I shan't have any room to put _you_ up too."

Quinn shook his head, knowing full well that two snotty kids wouldn't take up the thirty-six seats in the dining room, let alone the seven spare guest bedrooms or eleven bathrooms in the grand colonial residence of Mrs Genevieve Quinn.

…

Quinn laughed to himself as he drove away down the immaculate, tree-lined street. A snobbish lecture from his mother always put his life choices into perspective. He felt a bit better about himself and tried not to think about Carrie as he spent an hour or so driving around the suburbs. He eventually ventured into the city of Philadelphia, visiting some of his old teenage haunts where he'd got into trouble with the wrong sort of kids. The sort his mother despised. He snorted as he recalled the meaning of the name of the city; _Philos Adelphos, the city of Brotherly Love._ Peter could never remember loving his brothers. They had all been too volatile and competitive to have any inclination to love each other. A competitiveness fuelled by their high-achieving father, who was a hater of American Football, but forever quoting Vince Lombardi. _Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing._

Quinn chuckled as he drove down West Somerset Street and saw the dilapidated red, brick buildings, alternating with some of the smarter residences and small businesses. He remembered this particular street well due to frequenting the Philadelphia Police Headquarters for the thirteenth District on several occasions. He recalled the times, years ago, when his horrified parents had arrived, mortified to bring him home to Wayne after yet another underage drinking or minor graffiti incident. Luckily for Quinn's parents, more than himself, that his father held enough influence with high-ranking officers, so charges were never pressed.

Quinn's heart shuddered slightly when he remembered that a particular Law Enforcement Officer worked in that very same building now. Police Officer Julia Diaz. He hadn't seen her for well over four years, although she had telephoned him not so long ago, after she had been scared out of her wits by questions from a suspicious and bear-like IRS guy called Richard Keller. Impulsively, Quinn decided to pay Julia Diaz a visit and find out how their four and a half year old son John was.


	17. Chapter 17: My Son John

_Thank you CSI Encyclopedia for your review of chapter 16. I thought you summed up Mrs G. Quinn very accurately in your review!_

_So here's another update, more quickly than usual... begging / pleading / paying / selling my soul ...for all your much-needed & sincerely appreciated comments and reviews... _

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 17**

Police Office Julia Diaz lead Peter Quinn away from the bustling front desk into a small interview room within the Police Station. "What are _you_ doing here?" she hissed nervously, through her red lipstick.

"I don't know," Quinn answered honestly, "I was just passing and I..."

"Is it even safe for you to be here?" Julia's dark eyes widened under her long black lashes. "That horrible old IRS man with the beard, Richard Keller, won't come here again asking tax questions will he?"

Quinn shook his head "No, his real name is Saul and he won't come again. No one knows I'm here."

Julia Diaz and Peter Quinn regarded each other, both wondering how their one night stand had ever happened that lead to the birth of their son John. There was no mutual attraction when they were sober and they couldn't imagine it drunk either. They'd been strangers, both miserable and alone in a bar one evening and drank themselves beyond silly. Neither was particularly into having one night stands, but somehow they'd had drunken fumbling sex at Julia's mother's house, that they couldn't quite remember. Quinn had left immediately and Julia had been relieved to show him the door, despite their mutual inebriation. Quinn certainly didn't remember giving Julia Diaz his cell phone number, but the earth shattering call that she was pregnant had come three months later. Quinn had promised to stand by Julia and the baby, but she had scoffed and told him to forget any of that medieval bullshit. She just wanted money for the baby's future, seeing as she couldn't face any of the alternative options available.

"Are you happy with our arrangement?" asked Quinn, administratively, "Do you have enough money?"

Julia black eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her slim hips. "You've come because you want to reduce your payments?"

"No!" Quinn shook his head, "Do you want me to send more?"

Julia shrugged, "No, you've been very generous. John is a lucky boy, all things considered."

"Can I see him?" Quinn blurted it out. He hadn't even realised he'd been thinking about it.

Julia stared at Quinn like he'd grown another head. Her dark eyebrows raised high in amazement. "Are you fucking joking?" she laughed.

Quinn shook his head. "I know our agreement and I respect your wishes, but sometimes I wonder..."

"You wonder what?" Juila clenched her white teeth, accentuating the small gap between the top two.

"Who he looks like? What he loves playing with?" Quinn swallowed, "He's my son and I know nothing about him! I haven't seen him since he was a few hours old!"

"You should never have turned up at the hospital!" Julia glowered menacingly. "Thank God you had the sense to avoid bumping into my mother whilst you were there. She would have beaten the shit out of the drunk anonymous asshole who got her daughter knocked-up!"

"It takes two to tango!" grimaced Quinn, looking around at the stark white walls.

"Yeah, whatever." Julia stuck her chin out and tossed her black bun, independently. A few strands of hair came loose with the force. "Listen, do us both a favour and don't ever come here again. I don't mind tipping you off when your enemies come knocking. I know the protocol and the extra payment is much appreciated, but don't start getting any paternal feelings, OK? You're not welcome in John's life. You said yourself that you're hardly ever in the country due to your _top secret work_..."

"I've told you before that I can't talk much about Special Operations..." Quinn frowned, trying to remember how much he'd told her in the past.

"Listen. Even if you lived next door and worked in a Grocery Store, I wouldn't want John knowing who his father is. We made a mistake. You know it. I know it." Julia put her hands on her hips again and looked down awkwardly. "Our paths would never ever have crossed again if I hadn't been stupid enough to be so drunk to vomit up my pill... and both of us being stupid enough to not use a condom. We have nothing in common, we don't even like each other!"

"We have a son," Quinn whispered, "Can't we try and maintain some mutual respect for John's sake?"

"Listen. One day, when John is older, he might come looking for you and I won't stop him, but I won't help him either." Julia pursed her bright red lips and looked up triumphantly. "Your name's not even on his birth certificate!"

"Why are you so cold, so dismissive of John having any sort of Father figure?" Quinn finally asked what he'd often wondered.

Julia shrugged, "I never had a father. My Mom raised me alone and I turned out OK."

"That's a matter of opinion," mumbled Quinn, looking away to the row of metal filing cabinets.

Julia squared her shoulders and thrust her jaw forward. "Listen if you've come here to insult me and my mother, you can leave right now."

"Put yourself in my shoes, please," begged Quinn. "I just want to see my son!"

"Forget it!" Julia crossed her arms. "I am an independent, strong, single mom. If you want access to _my_ son John, then you'll have to go through the courts and I will fight against you every step of the way. Is that what you really want for John?"

"Why do you hate me so much?" pleaded Quinn, "I'm not a bad guy, I'm a good guy."

"It's nothing to do with you!" Julia spat, "Don't take it personally. It's about what's best for _my_ son! I can't just have some stranger coming along when it suits him, thinking he can play Daddy for a few hours then disappear off the face of the earth! Kids need stability everyday. John has that with me and my mother!"

"Who looks after John, whilst you're at work?" enquired Quinn, desperate for any details.

"My mother does of course! He'll be starting school soon." Julia's dark eyes flashed and she looked insulted. "I didn't waste all your money on day-care everyday if that's what you're worried about! My mother looks after him very well. They went to plenty of structured play sessions with other babies and toddlers. They go to the playground at East Fairmount Park every fucking morning. They'll still do that in the school holidays!"

"Like I'd get a say in anything he does..." Quinn whispered, sadly, wishing he could take his son to the park.

"Listen," Julia's harsh, defensive demeanour softened slightly, "John is in good hands. He is being raised to be a strong, independent little boy. He's an amazing kid. You would be proud. He's a handsome little guy too. He has my black hair, but your nice blue eyes."

Quinn swallowed, feeling on the verge of tears for the second time that day. Julia was formidable and there was no hope of swaying her an inch. He inhaled, "Can I ask one final question?"

Julia shrugged dismissively, which he took as an affirmative.

Quinn eyed her curiously. "Why did you call our baby, _John_?"

"John was my older brother's name. I never met him." Julia suddenly looked distraught. "My mother, Rosa, said that my father abducted him, when John was a toddler. He disappeared whilst she was pregnant with me. She's never seen my brother John, or my father, since and has no idea what happened to them."

"That's terrible, Julia." Quinn's heart felt wrenched at her mother's ordeal. "I would never take our son John away from you, you know that don't you?"

Julia shook her head. "One can never be too careful." She tearfully gestured for him to leave.

Quinn walked towards the door sadly, but with a glimmer of understanding of Julia's strange possessive behaviour towards their son. "Give John a hug from me."

Julia shook her head curtly and swallowed her tears, "No, never. You don't have a son. Don't ever come here again."


	18. Chapter 18: Penthouse

_Thank you CSI Encyclopedia & Violet for your reviews of chapter 17. I don't know what I'd do without reviews & feedback from readers - it keeps me going!_

_This is the chapter that I have found the most difficult to write so far, so I'm posting it now (nervously) & hoping it's OK..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 18**

That evening, just for the hell of it, Peter Quinn checked into The Ritz-Carlton Hotel on the Avenue of the Arts in historic downtown Philadelphia. He was in the mood for comfort and took the expensive Penthouse suite, mainly to have nineteen hundred square feet all to himself. He had decided to stay in some accommodation that would be poles apart from the poky, seedy Motel bedroom where he had bunked with Carrie last night. Having the entire thirty-first floor in a lavish neoclassical hotel with his own private elevator was about as different retreat as he could envisage.

It would also be a novelty to sleep in a huge four-poster bed with it's featherbed-topped mattress, three hundred-thread count linen and down comforters. Quinn was more used to catching some zzz's in his standard-issue military sleeping bag, either on top of the bare mattress on the single bed at his rented apartment, or on the cold, hard floor when out on a mission.

Quinn was determined to beat his exhaustion, headache and emotional pain following his visit to Julia Diaz. Her fierce opposition to him ever seeing their son, John, had traumatised him more than he cared to admit. He knocked back two miniature bottles of whisky from the mini-bar and sat on the plush green sofa. His eyes flitted disinterestedly to the grandiose pillars, the lavish wooden panelling and the opulent chandeliers. He leisurely reviewed the pile of glossy leaflets and newspapers laid on the highly polished wooden coffee table. He laughed absurdly at a discreet newspaper advertisement eluding to beautiful and expensive escorts that were available in the city. He thought about booking a pricey, blonde hooker to come and lick the scar on his stomach like Carrie had done at the Motel, but he quickly decided against it. He knew it would only lead to further frustration and disappointment because she wouldn't do it exactly right.

Quinn ordered himself an adult movie on the gigantic flat-screen TV and watched it for about forty seconds, before switching it off. He headed for the spacious shower cubicle in the glossy cream marble bathroom to make use of the complimentary _Bvlgari_ toiletries that were waiting on top of the granite vanity. He scrubbed viciously, trying to wash away the residue of the day under the deluge from the enormous shower head. Through the droplets he snickered at the telephone positioned near to the toilet. _Now that's called talking shit._

After drying himself with an Egyptian cotton towel, Quinn put on the luxurious bathrobe and drifted aimlessly around the vast rooms of the Penthouse, before making the snap-decision to get dressed again. He left the Penthouse at The Ritz-Carlton to do some shopping.

...

Peter Quinn returned thirty minutes later and had a few more miniatures from the mini-bar whilst he watched a dire sit-com on the TV. He switched his laptop on and checked to see if the tracker that was attached to Carrie's car was still working. It was. Embittered, he threw his computer against the wall after he saw that her car was parked at the Mathison family's cabin in the woods. He vividly imagined Carrie caressing Brody. Licking _his_ scars. Quinn already knew from his previous surveillance with Saul, exactly what Brody and Carrie sounded like when they fucked. She couldn't get enough of every inch of him. Quinn put his hands over his ears to try and drown out his auditory memories of her erotic moaning and screams of ecstasy when Brody had finished her off.

Quinn recollected his disagreement with Saul at the time about whether Carrie really was _turning it around_ or just a _stage five delusional getting laid_. In hindsight it was simply Carrie and Brody's mind-blowing reunion sex, just like they'd be having right now at the cabin.

_I was just foreplay in the Motel this morning. I was just one little kiss that never happened. I'm just collateral damage in the carnage of Carrie and Brody's screwed-up love story. _

...

Quinn recalled being in the woods at the Mathison's idyllic cabin before the CIA bombing, watching Brody and Carrie through his lens and being stuck betwixt and between wanting Carrie's happiness and wanting to complete his orders to assassinate Brody as efficiently and reliably as was expected of him.

"I am extremely reliable." He chided himself. _How many times have I told that to people?_

_I'm not reliable any more. I'm reckless. I put Carrie's heart first and now I've decided that I want to be the one close to her and I can't because Brody is back. _

Quinn poured some whisky into a crystal tumbler.

_I'm the delusional one. This isn't love or attraction. This is just obsession and jealousy. I'm the one losing my mind. _

He poured himself some more whisky.

_Just lately, I can't be near Carrie without wanting to hold her, then give it to her so hard that she can't walk for a week. _

He topped up his whisky, before downing it.

_Whenever I'm near Brody, I just want to punch his fucking lights out._

Quinn poured himself another whisky, then violently swept all the leaflets and newspapers off the polished coffee table. He lined up his earlier purchases along with two other items retrieved from his rucksack.

_I might be reckless instead of reliable, but I'm still decisive._

...

Firstly, Quinn surveyed Carrie's CIA identity card. He'd found it in his rucksack earlier and realised that he must have picked it up accidentally at the Motel. He kissed his index finger and placed it gently onto her laminated, concerned face.

_I've fallen for you, Carrie._

Next, he tenderly cradled the small creased Polaroid of his newborn baby son John, before placing it next to Carrie's identity card. He wished that he had a photograph of himself to create a make-believe happy family scene.

_In my fucking dreams._

Quinn rummaged in his rucksack for his own CIA identity card, but accidentally pulled out Brody's passport photograph. The one that McCoy had brought to him with _the date_ on the back which proved Brody was still alive after the CIA bombing.

Quinn put the Polaroid of his son John in between Brody's passport photograph and Carrie's identity card.

_Happy families._

He took another swig of whisky before setting Brody's photograph apart from the others. He swiftly pulled his knife out of his pocket and savagely impaled Brody's two-dimensional face onto the polished wooden table.

Quinn laughed manically, amused and satisfied with his work, before bursting into tears as he retrieved his knife and tore Brody's photograph into tiny pieces.

...

Remaining on the coffee table, alongside the separate images of Carrie and his baby son John, stood discarded empty miniatures, a half-drank large bottle of Scotch whisky and an overflowing tumbler. Teetering close to the edge, was a large, unopened container of Tylenol painkillers and a neat rope bundle of nylon paracord.

Quinn stared at the items and sobbed as he wondered how his life had come to this. How had he become so _unwanted_ and so _unreliable_. After three more glasses of whisky he had finally accepted that he was simply the shameful son, the unwanted lover and the non-existent father.

_Shameful, unwanted and non-existent!_

Today had brutally reminded him of those hard facts. He lurched angrily towards the window and glared bitterly at the twinkling view of the City Hall and other historic landmarks from his lonely penthouse suite.

___Shameful, unwanted and non-existent!_

He punched the glass.

_Reckless, unreliable, but decisive!_

Peter Quinn cursed as he wrenched the heavy french doors open and felt the rush of cold air engulfing his woozy senses. He inhaled the evening air deeply before turning his back on the breathtaking view and staggering back towards the coffee table for Carrie's identity card and the Polaroid photograph of John. He hugged them both tightly before unsteadily tripping outside onto the Penthouse balcony.


	19. Chapter 19: Morning After

_Thank you so much CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104, LilMisfit5290, Violet and Bluestarshine for your reviews of chapter 18! I was nervous about that chapter as I found it very difficult to write. I am so overwhelmed & motivated by your feedback! Thank you. :-)_

_I'm loving all the other Homeland stories and one-shots on here at the moment, so thanks for reviewing mine, even though you're all so busy. I particularly like how our stories are so diverse! Anyway, here's the next installment of mine..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 19**

When Peter Quinn stirred the next morning, he attempted to roll over several times, but as the pain got worse he gradually realised that he couldn't.

He managed to force his heavy, bleary eyes open and gaze, confused, at his painful right arm that seemed to be either not functioning or restrained in some way. His brain tried to compute what was happening or had occurred, but he had no recollection. He remembered whisky. Whisky in tiny bottles and a big bottle and photographs and looking at the view of the city and then...

_What next?_ He tried to force his brain and his memory into action. _No, nothing._

Quinn glanced over at the other side of the bed and realised that he was not alone.

…

"Good morning, how's your head?" Quinn's concerned companion was smartly dressed and sat on the edge of the bed.

Quinn tried to sit up, but his restrained arm made it difficult. "What the fuck?!" He was pale enough already, but the cogs in his brain finally started turning.

Rudy McCoy smirked as he reached across and tried to aid Quinn into a more upright position on his pillows.

"Get your hands off me!" Quinn cowered away from him. "What are you doing here? What have you done to me!" He eyed the pink fluffy handcuffs on his right wrist, nervously.

"Don't you remember?" McCoy pretended to look hurt. "We had such a good night!"

Quinn swallowed. "No! I remember feeling pretty sorry for myself. Then I wake up and you're here and I'm..." He tugged at the pink fluffy handcuff with his free hand. "Please unlock this! It's making me feel... sick."

"As you wish, but I got the impression yesterday that you kind of liked being restrained!" McCoy pulled the key out of his blue shirt pocket and unlocked Quinn's pink handcuffs.

Quinn anxiously leapt out of bed and was disoriented for a moment. He felt a pang of relief as he noticed that he was still wearing his underwear. He suddenly wobbled, dizzily and collapsed heavily onto the four-poster bed. "I think I'm going to puke..." He managed to stumble towards the en-suite and dry retch into the toilet bowl.

McCoy followed him in and patted his back. "Jesus, Quinn, you're in worse shape than what I realised."

"I'm fine. I just need some food. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning at the Pancake House." Quinn clambered up from the tiled floor and swayed as he held onto the windowsill. "I've only had whisky since then."

McCoy helped him into a white bathrobe then guided him through to the lounge. He propped Quinn up on the green sofa whilst he buttered some toast. "I took the liberty of ordering us some room service." He grinned and offered Quinn a slice. "Breakfast?"

Quinn took the toast and groaned. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Buddy, you called me late last night. You were pretty incomprehensible, but you managed to say Ritz and Philly." McCoy laughed, "I took a chance on guessing you were here and not talking about snack crackers and cream cheese!"

Quinn frowned as his furry, dry mouth attempted to chew the toast. His eyes darted desperately around the silver tray for some coffee.

"I was in Langley, but I drove here in less than two and a half hours." McCoy eyed the horizontal Tylenol container and the tangled mess of nylon paracord on the floor as he poured Quinn a coffee. "Thankfully you obeyed my orders and didn't do anything stupid whilst you waited for me."

"I can't remember anything, McCoy," Quinn rubbed his clammy forehead.

"I'm not surprised after so much whisky. You were already in bed asleep when I got here." McCoy smiled as he passed Quinn the steaming cup of coffee. "It was freezing though. Those balcony doors were wide open."

...

Despite his nausea and throbbing head, Quinn managed to force a half-smile, before frowning at the minor welt on his wrist, imprinted from his earlier fluffy restraint. "I'm a bit scared to ask about the pink handcuffs..."

McCoy raised an eyebrow. "You don't remember begging me for a kiss? That's how it all started."

"No," Quinn paled and dropped his cup of coffee on the floor. It splashed everywhere. "Oh my fucking God. We didn't... did we?" He covered his eyes with his hands.

"Quinn, I'm winding you up!" McCoy burst out laughing as he mopped up the spillage with a thick white cotton napkin. "I'm sorry... that joke was in poor taste given your fragile condition this morning!"

"You bastard!" Quinn still had a glimmer of distrust in his eyes as he rubbed his wrist. "The handcuffs, though...?"

"Just one of my practical jokes." McCoy smiled apologetically. "After what you told me yesterday about you and Carrie in the Motel!"

"What I told you? Or what you saw?" Despite his thumping headache, Quinn prayed for the response he wanted to hear.

"What you told me of course! I never saw anything at the Motel," McCoy frowned. "You _were_ joking weren't you... about being handcuffed to the bed by Carrie?"

Quinn sighed. "Nope."

"Jesus, Quinn! Is that what all this is about?" McCoy gestured to the whisky, the pills and the nylon rope, "Carrie?"

Quinn shook his head. "No... I went to see my mother yesterday."

"And?" McCoy looked at him, confused.

Quinn flinched. "And then I went to see the mother of my son."

"Son?" McCoy stared in disbelief, "I didn't know you had a wife, let alone a kid!"

"I said the mother of my son, not my wife," Quinn grimaced. "We're not together... we've never been together. I've only seen my son once. He was the result of a one night stand... with a woman who can't stand me and won't let me see him."

McCoy frowned. "Shit, Quinn... I had no idea."

"Yeah, it's shit alright," Quinn shrugged, sadly.

"Well this isn't the answer." McCoy scooped up the bottle of painkillers, along with a few loose pills and threw them all into the waste-paper bin. "Whatever the problem is!"

"I was just drunk... Nothing made sense..." Quinn ran his fingers through his untidy brown hair.

McCoy smiled. "You hardly made sense. I'm relieved I came though." Out of military habit, he started winding the nest of nylon paracord into a meticulous fast rope bundle.

Quinn nodded gratefully, "I'm glad you're here."

...

"I'm sorry that I've got to leave so soon... Langley beckons." McCoy looked hopeful. "You want to ride home with me, buddy?"

Quinn shook his head. "Not yet."

"I've got to go back this morning and help Saul with all this media crap." McCoy frowned. "Help Brody get his story straight before the press talk to him."

Quinn bit his lip as he surveyed the splintered, gaping gouge in the wooden coffee table. "How is Brody?"

"Smug," McCoy laughed. "That man has had more second chances than I've had hot dinners."

"How's...?" Quinn tailed off.

"Your beloved Carrie?" McCoy smiled and gently patted his friend's hand. "She was quiet on the drive back. I think she'd had enough of Brody and Dana's bickering after the first mile."

"If _you_ didn't see me and Carrie in the Motel bedroom, then it was either Brody, or Dana..." Quinn groaned. "Can you remember anything from yesterday morning? Who used the bathroom first?"

"I really have no idea, buddy," McCoy shrugged. "I'll watch Brody and Carrie closely though. Look for signs of trouble in paradise."

"How's Dana?" Quinn half-smiled. "She's got the hots for you!"

McCoy rolled his eyes. "She's just fallen under the spell of the _Hot Son of Fire,_ or whatever you said my name meant." His cell phone beeped and he grinned. "Hey, I knew she'd contact me! It's that cute waitress from the Pancake House!"

Quinn shook his head. "Honestly McCoy. How do you do it?"

McCoy stopped texting his reply and glanced up from his cell phone. "What?"

Quinn sighed. "Attract women?"

McCoy snorted. "Just women?"

Quinn arched an eyebrow at his friend.

"Oh come on, you must realise by now that I like to keep my options open," McCoy smirked. "We are in the _City of Brotherly Love_ after all!"

Quinn laughed. "Well, yeah, I did kind of wonder... a couple of things that you've said now and then."

McCoy gazed earnestly at Quinn. "If you weren't such a good friend, I might have tried it on with you by now. You're a very attractive man..."

"Ummm..." Quinn gulped and didn't know where to look.

"Listen, I will never make a pass at you, so don't worry," McCoy chuckled. "I'm sorry about the handcuff practical joke too."

Quinn exhaled, "I was afraid that you'd taken advantage of me last night..."

"You wouldn't be sitting so comfortably if I had!" winked McCoy.

Quinn gasped, before laughing.

McCoy became serious. "Listen, I can see how much you're into Carrie and I can't comment on this whole situation with your son or anything... but I'll always be here for you. That's what best mates are for, isn't it?"

Quinn sighed. "You probably saved my life last night."

"And you might do the same for me, one day?" McCoy punched him playfully on the arm.

Quinn nodded. "Of course." He watched as McCoy decanted what was left of the whisky into his own hip-flask. He thought about protesting, but decided that he never wanted to drink the stuff again.

...

McCoy pulled Quinn into a friendly bear-hug as he got ready to depart. "Ever since I met you I've known how much you care for Carrie... so don't give up." McCoy smiled, "I'm not a betting man, but I'll put money on her breaking Brody's heart within a few weeks."

Quinn pulled away, astounded. "That's _exactly_ what I said to Carrie at the Motel. Those exact words!"

"Great minds think alike, eh?" McCoy laughed. "Don't forget what Marilyn said..."

Quinn looked confused, "Marilyn?"

McCoy grinned. "Yeah, Marilyn Monroe said, _S__ometimes good things fall apart so better things can fall together_."

"You really think that me and Carrie... you seriously think that I'm a better match for her compared to Brody?" Quinn asked, disbelievingly.

McCoy snorted. "Ummm... so you're asking me if a bipolar CIA analyst is better off hooking up with a suicidal black-ops soldier, or going for a former hostage with PTSD, turned terrorist, turned Vice-President-murdering nutcase?"

Quinn pursed his lips as he considered this, "I'm not suicidal by the way, I was just drunk."

"Exactly. So don't give up on Carrie just yet," McCoy smiled. "Just give her more time to come to her senses."

Quinn shrugged, dejectedly. "The heart wants what the heart wants..."

McCoy patted his shoulder. "Don't give up on seeing your son either."


	20. Chapter 20: Scooter

_Thank you so much new favouriters and followers and also to CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104, Violet and Bluestarshine for your reviews of chapter 19! I'm glad you liked Quinn's surprise visitor in that chapter... I __must confess to taking a lot of artistic licence with Rudy McCoy. In S2 (E1 & E2), he was Saul's quiet, efficient, brave assistant in Beirut and (somehow) in my story he's developed into this extroverted character that contrasts, complements (and compliments) Quinn! I enjoy writing their scenes together (no idea why!)._

_This chapter is dedicated to CSI Encyclopedia who has so kindly read and reviewed my chapters from day one, for both 'Love's Terrror Cell' and 'The Date'. Your reviews have always motivated me to keep on going! Wishing you a speedy recovery..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 20**

After Rudy McCoy had departed, Peter Quinn spent the rest of the day in his black hipster underpants, lounging around in the Penthouse of The Ritz-Carlton Hotel. He slept for most of it. The mini-bar remained closed and he kept himself hydrated with more mineral water than he'd ever drank in his life. He chuckled to himself everytime he went to the toilet and saw the telephone adjacent to it. Each time he resisted the temptation to make a prank call to Rudy McCoy and share toilet humour, as he knew the CIA would be too bogged down that afternoon, getting Brody's good name re-established.

The prawn tortellini served under a fancy silver cloche was a novelty. Quinn usually ate out of tins or at cheap diners these days, rather than indulging in room service served by a smart butler. Not that he didn't have expensive or luxurious tastes. His parents had certainly raised him with an appreciation of the finer things in life and he could host lavish dinner parties, or dine at fine restaurants with immaculate etiquette when necessary. He had rebelled against all of that and now preferred life to be raw and hard with sharp edges. Not today though. Today was a rare day for cocooning himself in a fluffy bathrobe, making plans and psychologically preparing himself to face the world and Carrie again.

Quinn now remembered how close to the edge he'd come on the balcony last night. He'd made the mistake of letting his temper and emotions get the better of him. He was determined never to make that almost fatal error again. He had an early night and the final thought to cross his mind was that it was a ridiculous luxury to sleep alone in a Penthouse covering nineteen hundred square feet . _Make the most of it, _he thought, _it's back to the apartment and sleeping bag tomorrow night._

_..._

When Quinn awoke, his mind was clear and his body well rested from a deep sleep in the four-poster bed. He was relieved not to find Rudy McCoy sat next to him again, threatening him with pink fluffy handcuffs.

Quinn had formed a plan for the morning in Philadelphia, before the drive back to Langley. He had a personal mission.

...

Mid-morning he headed towards East Fairmount Park. It was a lush green area, always thriving with joggers, dog walkers and picnicking families. Nobody looked out of place in the park. Even the lonesome weirdos fitted right into the scenery with the trees and Frisbee throwing kids.

Quinn walked leisurely, enjoying the sunshine despite being behind his aviator sunglasses and under his navy blue cap. Eventually he found a perfect wooden bench and sat surveying the view. In the distance, various species of trees surrounded a pretty lake and he saw joggers following the brown lakeside path. In his peripheral vision were the open green spaces, with various groups and individuals criss-crossing paths, or lazing on benches.

Directly in Quinn's line of sight, just a few feet away, was the children's playground surrounded by low yellow metal railings. _They go to the playground at East Fairmount Park every fucking morning. _Julia Diaz's words ran through his head, over and over again.

...

There was no mistaking Julia's mother, Rosa Diaz. She had much wider hips than Julia, but the same thrusting chin and hardness about her face. _Poor woman not knowing where her own son is_, thought Quinn, recalling Julia's story about how her older brother had been abducted as a toddler.

He watched as Rosa lifted a small boy onto the swing. Rosa now had her back to Quinn and the boy's round face beamed in delight as she pushed him gently. Quinn observed his dark hair and smiling eyes. He couldn't see the boy's eye colour from where he was sat, but he knew from what Julia had said, was that they were as blue as his own. The boy squealed in delight and tried to high-five his grandmother, Rosa, as she pushed him higher.

When she deemed that he'd had enough, she lifted him down and the small boy ran around, before grabbing his small blue scooter. He was fast. Quinn wondered where John Diaz had learnt to scoot so well. _Maybe right here in the park? _Quinn suddenly felt sad that he'd missed seeing his son take his first steps. _Maybe John learned to walk here too?_

The scooter was discarded for a turn on the climbing frame. _He's so confident, so agile_, thought Quinn proudly. Before long, Rosa Diaz was herding John towards the gate whilst she pushed the scooter. Quinn swallowed. _Don't leave already,_ he thought, anxiously. _I've only been here five minutes_. He checked his watch, knowing that he'd have to arrive earlier next time.

...

He held his breath as John skipped towards him. The boy's blue eyes were wide and full of awe.

John stopped directly in front him, resting his small hands on Quinn's knees. "Do you like my new scooter?" he grinned a bright smile.

Quinn smiled warmly at the gorgeous little boy, "Hello," he breathed, removing his sunglasses, "I certainly do like your scooter."

The boy grinned. "My name's John. What's yours?"

Quinn hesitated, "I'm Peter."

"Come here, John!" Rosa Diaz strode over. "I'm sorry Sir, he's such a curious and talkative little boy."

"Your little boy is beautiful!" Quinn smiled up at her, as Rosa scooped a giggling John up into her broad arms, before plonking him back down onto the scooter.

"Thank you," the hard lines on Rosa's face softened a little, "he's my grandson," she stated proudly as John scooted around her in circles, before darting away.

John wobbled as he turned around and waved his hand towards Quinn. "Bye bye Peter!"

Quinn, smiled and waved, ecstatic, "Goodbye John!"

John scooted back over to him. "See you again! You can have a turn on my scooter next time, Peter!"

Rosa walked away with John scooting at her side and Quinn could hear her admonishing him, "You can't go around talking to strangers, my love!"

"Goodbye, son!" whispered Quinn, full of joy at meeting his son properly for the first time.

…

Quinn waited fifteen minutes before leaving East Fairmount Park. As he floated happily back to the hotel, he felt immense hope. He didn't quite feel like the non-existent father any more.

On the other hand, he felt that he could happily live with being the shameful son. "Screw you Mother, it's my life not yours." he chuckled to himself.

As for being the unwanted lover, Quinn felt more confident than ever in his belief that Carrie and Brody's romance could never last in the cold light of day. _You'll break his heart in a few weeks_ had been his own prediction to Carrie. Even Rudy McCoy had echoed those words. Regardless, Quinn hoped that Carrie was feeling OK. That was all he wanted really, her to be happy now, whatever the future held for her and Brody.

Quinn had learned his lesson about getting angry and jealous that _he_ wasn't the one with her. He sighed and decided the best he could hope for was, _if Carrie's happy, then I'm happy. _He was certain that him and Carrie had shared a unique and intense connection in the fleeting moments that they were entwined at the Motel. A mind-blowing physical attraction in addition to the bond of friendship that they already shared. He hoped that their friendship wouldn't be comprimised_, _even if their sexual chemistry was ignored and never pursued again.

Quinn pulled his dented laptop out of his rucksack and checked on Carrie's location. Fortuitously, it seemed that the tracking device was still fitted to her car. He was delighted to see that her car was no longer at her family's cabin in the woods, but was securely in the car park at CIA headquarters in Langley. _Back at work already?_ Quinn smiled to himself. _When the Carrie and Brody love story falls apart at the seams, I'll make sure I'm there to help Carrie through it._


	21. Chapter 21: Julia's Smile

_Hi readers! Thanks for reading this far! __Thank you new favouriters and followers and LilMisfit5290, Violet, CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104 and Bluestarshine for your reviews of chapter 20! __I loved writing Quinn meeting John... hope you like this chapter too..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 21**

Peter Quinn knew that when he returned to the hotel, after seeing his son John at the park, that he was supposed to check-out and drive back to Langley. However, he couldn't resist extending his stay in Philadelphia for a third night and making plans to get one more glimpse of John the following day.

He spent a lazy afternoon in the Penthouse, daydreaming about his son, before devouring his room service dinner of trout, bok choy and potatoes from under the silver cloche.

Early in the evening, Quinn collapsed into the four-poster bed and dreamt about riding a blue scooter through the clouds.

...

The next morning, Quinn returned to East Fairmount Park. He got there earlier than the day before and chose a different bench, slightly further away from the children's playground and not on the same route that was taken by Rosa Diaz yesterday, so not to arouse her suspicions.

He was horrified to see that instead of Rosa Diaz, her daughter Julia was striding along, trying to keep up with John who was riding a small bike and making an observant beeline towards Quinn. _Shit,_ he thought. _It must be Julia's day off work. I've got to get out of here._

Quinn stood up and started walking in the opposite direction, but he became aware of heavy running footsteps catching up behind him. He kept walking briskly until he heard Julia's panting voice, "Peter?" This was echoed by an excited little boy's voice, "Peter!"

Quinn stiffened, before turning around, terrified. He guessed that her mother, Rosa, had somehow guessed who he was and she had warned Julia. Now she would never let him near his son, John, again. _I should never have tried to come a second time,_ he thought sadly. _I should have rolled out of town on a high, yesterday._

"Julia...?" Quinn felt sick to his stomach, but was amazed when Julia strained a smile and for a fraction of a second he could almost imagine what had drawn them together, when they had been two bitter, miserable strangers in the bar. The same night that John was conceived.

"Hi..." Julia looked down awkwardly. "My Mom told me that John was quite taken with a handsome man called Peter here, yesterday..." She shyly looked him in the eyes, "I hoped that you might be back again today."

"I'm sorry," Quinn stuttered, before earnestly holding her dark gaze with his blue eyes "I had no right to go against your wishes."

"You had every right," Julia muttered sadly, before squaring her shoulders. "You are John's _Daddy_ after all..."

Quinn felt his heart squeeze and he looked down at John who was chomping on a banana retrieved from the little basket on the front of his bike. "He's such a beautiful boy," he gasped, awestruck, as John wandered off to look at a dead mouse.

"You wanna come and help me push John on the swings?" Julia smiled, nervously and offered Quinn the handlebars of John's bike to push.

"Thank you," Quinn had a lump in his throat as he manoeuvred the bicycle through the playground gate and John skipped in behind them.

…

Quinn felt like he was in a dream whilst playing with John in the park. His son squealed with delight and particularly enjoyed being chased around in circles, followed by a long game of hide-and-seek.

When John got distracted and started racing around with a little boy his own age, who also had a bike, Quinn and Julia chatted awkwardly.

"What made you come today?" asked Quinn. He was nervous and intrigued. The Julia who had demonised him at the Thirteenth District Police Headquarters only a few days ago, had been replaced with someone who seemed eager to make amends.

"I've been thinking of nothing else since I showed you the door." Julia sighed, "I've been so miserable. I knew my fears, or should I say _my mother's fears_ of losing John were influencing everything about the situation."

Quinn nodded, "It's understandable."

Julia sighed, "My mother is very controlling. Ever since I was a little girl she wrapped me up in cotton wool and never let me out of her sight. She was afraid that my father would abduct me, like he abducted my brother." Tears welled in her eyes.

Quinn was overwhelmed by the urge to reach out and comfort her, but he didn't. He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked at the ground.

"When I got pregnant, my mother cried for weeks. She felt it was her fault. Like she hadn't looked after me well enough or something. She wouldn't accept that I was in my twenties and stupidly had a drunken, one night stand!"

Quinn cringed, "I'm sorry if I ruined your life."

Julia laughed. "Ruin it?" She looked at John, lovingly. "John is my life! He's the best thing to ever happen to me. I wouldn't change anything."

"He's perfect isn't he?!" smiled Quinn.

Julia frowned, "That's why I came today. I want John to know his father. It's something that I never had and..." She paused, "I don't how to go about it, but you were right when you said that we need to maintain respect for John's sake. I spoke to my Therapist about everything yesterday."

Quinn raised his eyebrows. This was sounding promising.

"You had this pained look in your eyes the other day when I asked you to leave the Police Station. It was the same look you had when I forced you to leave the hospital after John was born." Julia sounded guilty. "The same pained look when I was pregnant and I told you to forget any medieval bullshit about sticking by me."

Quinn bit his lip in the hope of stopping any tears. She had just reeled off his three most agonising memories.

Julia reached out tentatively and touched his arm. "I'm sorry for what I've put you through. I don't know what else to say, but for John's sake, I'm asking you to play a role in his life, in some shape or form."

"Thank you," Quinn nodded, slowly, "I won't let John down."

Julia smiled, before she swallowed and looked tearful herself.

Quinn reached out to give her an awkward hug, but pulled away quickly. "What about your mother? Does she know about this?"

"It's John's life, not hers," Julia swallowed a sob and then laughed hard. A few strands of hair came loose and she pulled her elastic hair band down her ponytail and onto her wrist. Her silky dark hair cascaded around her shoulders. "Screw my mother. She'll just have to get used to it!"

Quinn smiled. He understood _that_ particular sentiment very well. He was just thinking about how Julia was quite pretty when she laughed with her hair down, then John appeared at his side and tugged his hand for another game of hide-and-seek.

"I like playing with you, Peter," John shrieked as he finally found Quinn hiding behind a bench. "You're my new best friend."

...

As Quinn walked back to the hotel to pick up his car for the drive back to Langley, he reflected happily upon the life-changing encounter that had just occurred. He was delighted that he was no longer just an anonymous source of finance for John's future. No promises or arrangements had been made with Julia, regarding visits or access, but Quinn knew in his heart that a quantum leap of progress had just been made and that he was going to get to know his son. He almost felt it was a miracle, like he hadn't prayed consciously, but his unconscious supplications had been answered regardless.

Quinn's ringing cell-phone rudely interrupted his metaphysical thoughts as he entered the hotel's private elevator to go up to the Penthouse. He saw that it was Rudy McCoy's number and he smiled as he answered it. "Hey buddy, how's things?"

"Where the fuck are you, Quinn?" McCoy demanded, angrily.

"Nice to hear your voice too," Quinn stepped out of the elevator into the hotel suite. "I'm right here... exactly where you left me!"

"I thought you'd be back yesterday," grumbled McCoy.

"Well... I wasn't," Quinn sat on the sofa and removed his boots.

McCoy huffed at him, clearly annoyed, "Why not?"

Quinn opened a bottle of mineral water and took a swig, "I'm on holiday, having a good time!"

"When are you coming back?" McCoy sounded slightly lonely.

Quinn was secretly looking forward to seeing his friend and telling him everything about playing with John in the park. "This afternoon, I promise," he laughed.

McCoy was obviously satisfied with that response and he started chuckling, "You're like a fucking rock star staying on your own in that damn Penthouse!"

"Who says I've been alone?" teased Quinn.

"Peter Quinn, you filthy pervert..." McCoy whispered, "tell me more!"

"Maybe I'm with a couple of Playboy Bunnies right now?!" Quinn couldn't resist winding McCoy up.

McCoy burst out laughing, "Playboy Bunnies? Save one for me... I'll be there before lunch!"

In the handset, Quinn could hear a muffled female voice admonishing McCoy for going off on a tangent and then there was the sound of a scuffle.

"Quinn?" Carrie was now on the end line. There was some angry, indistinguishable whispering between her and McCoy, before Carrie obviously won the battle over control of the cell-phone. "Quinn, get your sorry ass back to Langley this minute."

Quinn was taken aback to hear her voice and he gasped, audibly, before replying as coolly as he could, "I'll be back later this afternoon."

"Later is not good enough!" Carrie started shouting, obviously highly agitated about something. "Saul told me you were having a couple of days in Philadelphia, but you've been away for three nights! We're all up to our eyeballs in work and you're living it up at The Ritz-Carlton according to McCoy!"

"I'm sorry Carrie," Quinn spat, sarcastically, "I didn't realise that you'd moved to the Human Resources department and you're responsible for keeping track of personnel and their holidays."

Quinn heard Carrie take a sharp intake of breath and then she snarled, "_Here!_" He heard footsteps departing rapidly and a door slamming in the background.

McCoy was back on the line, "Hey, what did you say to Carrie? She's just stormed out of the office!"

"What are you actually ringing me for?" Quinn frowned. "Why is Carrie so irritable?"

"Carrie is pissed off because Saul is holding Brody in a cell and wants him thoroughly debriefed to tie up any loose ends," McCoy's lowered his voice. "Maybe jog his memory for any intelligence as to who may have helped Estes with the CIA bombing at Walden's Memorial. Make sure Brody hasn't conveniently forgotten to report any details from his time with Nazir and his accomplices."

Quinn swallowed, disbelievingly. "The CIA are subjecting Brody to another interrogation?!"

"No, not yet," McCoy whispered, confidentially. "Saul specifically wants _you_ to interrogate Brody again."


	22. Chapter 22: Sketchy Details

_Welcome new favouriters and followers! Also, many thanks to reviewers of Ch. 21... CSI Encyclopedia, LilMisfit5290, Eyesdown104 and Violet! Your reviews keep me going!_

_This chapter is dedicated to Eyesdown104... un écrivain étonnant._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 22**

By mid-afternoon, Peter Quinn was back in his small apartment. He had not driven directly to CIA Headquarters in Langley, because he guessed that he would have been ordered by Saul to start debriefing Brody straight away. He wasn't in the right frame of mind to be the wicked interrogator. Not yet anyway.

_Besides_, he thought, smiling. _It won't do any harm to let Brody sweat in his cell for a bit longer_.

Quinn decided to send Rudy McCoy a text message, to let him know that he was back safely. He chuckled to himself as he typed on the touch-screen of his iPhone. _Hi Honey, I'm home. Keep it to yourself though._

Within less than a minute, the reply came. _Stay there. I'll BRB Sugarlips._

Quinn raised his eyebrows. _Be right back, Sugarlips? _He hadn't expected McCoy to return home on his account, but perhaps it wouldn't be a bad thing for them to have some privacy to discuss matters alone, before the circus of Brody's interrogation began.

…

Quinn took a bite of the cream cheese bagel that he'd just assembled, whilst he admired some of McCoy's pencil drawings that were strewn across the kitchen table. They were all highly detailed and very different. There were geometric city scapes, organic sprawling trees, two curvaceous, laughing females and a half-finished, angular faceless male who was reclining whilst wearing his pants. Quinn started to wonder if he should be overly concerned that this two-dimensional, sketched companion had a physique rather similar to his own. He suddenly heard a key in the lock of the apartment door and out of habit, his hand darted to his holster, but then he realised it would probably be McCoy. He wondered how many speeding tickets he must have risked to get home so quickly.

"I'm so glad you're back!" McCoy strode over and took a bite out of Quinn's bagel. "Sorry, I'm starving. Saul has been such a slave driver the last couple of days."

"It's good to be home." Quinn smiled at his friend and inclined his head to the sketch of the pant-wearing male. "I was getting lonely in that Penthouse."

"No Playboy Bunnies then?" McCoy winked and made rabbit ears with his hands.

"No, but I did meet a nice woman in the park," Quinn smirked, before sighing. "The mother of my son in fact."

McCoy was taken aback, "You said she couldn't stand you?"

"I think she's had a change of heart," Quinn remembered Julia laughing and flicking her black glossy hair at the park. Such a contrast to the aggressive bitch that had almost annihilated him only a couple of days beforehand at the Police Station.

"Are you saying...?" McCoy stuttered before grinning hopefully.

"I'm saying that you were right about me not giving up on seeing my son," Quinn patted McCoy's shoulder. "I saw John twice and I'm going to see him again soon."

"That's great!" McCoy smiled, before grimacing as he started raiding the refrigerator. "You might need to give up on a happy ending with Carrie though."

Quinn's mouth twitched. "Why?"

"She's in an absolute rage with us because Brody's been locked up." McCoy attacked a block of Cheddar cheese, fiercely with a metal grater. "Thinks it was our plan all along."

"Which I suppose it was... before we knew that David Estes was the bomber!" Quinn watched as the cheese was rapidly obliterated by McCoy, before being precisely sprinkled onto a thick slice of bread. "Didn't Saul promise that Brody and Carrie could live out their lives in peace now?"

"Oh, I think that's still the plan. It's just Saul is absolutely hell-bent on finding Nazir's henchmen that helped Estes plant the bomb." McCoy slammed another slice of bread of top of the grated cheese layer and then slit his creation with a knife into four perfect triangles. "Seems that Saul has a few lingering suspicions over Congressman Brody's version of events after all."

"Why didn't you tell me any of this when you came up to Philadelphia?" Quinn's hand whisked in to steal a quarter of the sandwich, but McCoy grabbed his wrist with a vice-like grip.

"What? Whilst you were drunk and considering throwing yourself off a balcony?" McCoy frowned, then released Quinn's wrist to allow him to share his sandwich after all. "Well, to be honest, Brody in a cell is a new development since this morning."

Quinn bit his lip. His evening from hell at the Penthouse felt like a lifetime ago, rather than just days. He sighed, "Well that would explain Carrie's foul mood on the phone earlier."

McCoy nodded. "She ought to be thankful that she's not in a cell next to Brody. She helped the world's most wanted terrorist escape to Canada!"

The sandwich stuck in Quinn's throat and he ran the faucet to fill a glass with water. He gagged at the slightly metallic, flat flavour, having drank nothing but Evian for the last few days in the Penthouse in Philadelphia. He felt a pang of guilt that he'd been away, when there was so much work to do and also that he might be responsible for Carrie's pain and rage. Random questions swirled through his mind. _Could he really trust Saul? Was it necessary for Brody to be behind bars again? What else didn't he know?_

_..._

"Why did you rush home?" Quinn frowned as McCoy gathered up the pencil drawings on the kitchen table and dumped them all in the kitchen bin. "Hey, don't bin them, they're really good."

McCoy froze, before exhaling, "I need to tell you something. I wanted to tell you in person."

Quinn watched as McCoy carefully retrieved a sketch from the bin. Quinn arched an eyebrow quizzically as the sketch was passed to him. It was a pencilled city scape of a place that he didn't recognise.

"My work here is done. I'm going back _there_." McCoy tapped the drawing and Quinn tried to read the complex emotions in his eyes, but couldn't. "It's Beirut and I'm booked on a plane back to Lebanon tomorrow evening."

Quinn looked away, so he wouldn't stare at McCoy in disbelief. He tried to ignore the slight sensation of a lump in his throat that was hinting at forming. He simply nodded and waited for McCoy to elaborate.

"Some shit is kicking off with Hezbollah, power struggle between their local commanders or _something._" McCoy shrugged dismissively, before seeming more perky. He glanced semi-nostalgically around their sparse apartment. "Shall we go for a beer or something while we still have the chance? Let Brody sweat until tomorrow? Let Saul and Carrie sweat too?"

Quinn forced himself to nod. His head and heart were suddenly all over the place. In his mind's eye, he could see John's beaming face, smiling brightly at him, which made his heart skip a beat. Equally vivid was Carrie's unreadable, emotional face as he'd left the Pancake House. That had been the last time he'd seen her and now she was furious with him, which made his heart sink. The face in front of him also affected him more than he cared to admit. His friend, Rudy McCoy, looking like a big kid about to explode with excitement because he was going somewhere he loved, on a new kick-ass, black-ops adventure. Quinn suddenly felt a twinge of jealousy, like he was now the redundant side-kick who was being left behind, to deal with Brody alone.

...

Quinn sat down heavily on a chair and tried to continue eating. He decided to tackle the Brody-situation before McCoy went off on a tangent about exactly which bar they might head to shortly. McCoy opened a tube of Pringles and sat across the table from him.

"Why does Saul want _me_ to debrief slash interrogate Brody?" Quinn asked, curiously. "Why can't you do it before you go tomorrow?"

"Slash Brody? Now there's a thought!" McCoy smirked before shrugging, "I can't do it, I'm no interrogator!"

"Neither am I," Quinn was perplexed.

McCoy added another small pile of Pringles to his plate. "Saul said that you dissected Brody pretty neatly last time?"

"I just stabbed the cocksure, lying motherfucker in the hand!" Quinn gritted his teeth at the memory.

"Yeah, but that was all part of the show wasn't it?" McCoy frowned. "Pure theatre for Carrie's benefit, according to Saul."

"Partly," Quinn leant back in his chair. "She was the one who finished the job off though."

"Well, Saul can't exactly ask Carrie to interrogate Brody this time around!" McCoy laughed. "You're not scared are you?

Quinn snorted "What? Scared of Brody?"

"No, of Carrie, of course." McCoy looked concerned. "How she might feel if you need to hurt Brody again... to get his co-operation?"

Quinn pondered this. "Has Saul said what he expects from Brody's debrief?"

"We've discussed it and some of Nazir's team must have helped Estes with the bombing at Walden's Memorial. The telephone transcript between Nazir and Estes said that they would. The CIA have no idea who these others were, or where they are now." McCoy was on a roll now and his eyes widened. "They could be planning something else! All because Nazir is dead, it doesn't mean that the threat has gone. Where's the tech guy who hacked Walden's pacemaker? Roya Hammad isn't talking, but perhaps Brody will..."

Quinn didn't look convinced. "He might not know anything..."

"Brody might remember something though. A name? A face? Or he might know everything!" McCoy suddenly gesticulated angrily. "He helped murder the Vice President and then had the gall to walk Cynthia Walden down the aisle to her seat at the Memorial. He conveniently left the auditorium before the bomb went off, to save himself and Carrie. Was that a coincidence?"

Quinn shrugged.

McCoy went on. "His car was packed full of C-4 explosives, that was probably in place before he arrived at the Memorial Service. Even if Brody didn't know it was in there, he might know who'd had access to his vehicle. That man needs to answer some questions!"

"Why can't Carrie deal with Brody?" asked Quinn. "She could tease information out of him gradually and feed it back to Saul."

"Gradually?! When some of Nazir's loyal followers are still at large? Brody is the best shot we've got and we don't have time for _gradually_!" McCoy shook his head. "Who's to say that another attack on American soil isn't imminent? Anyway Carrie can't be trusted when it comes to Brody. She's a fine CIA Agent, but devious when it involves the man she loves."

_The man she loves. _Quinn swallowed and felt like he was back at square one. _The man she fucking loves._


	23. Chapter 23: Karaoke Geeks

_A big hello to all readers and sincerest thanks to CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104, Violet, Guest and Bluestarshine for your reviews of Chapter 22!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 23**

When Peter Quinn woke up the next morning, it took him a moment to realise that he was no longer in a grand four-poster bed, under white Egyptian cotton sheets at the ostentatious Penthouse in Philadelphia. He was back in his small rented apartment, lying on top of the narrow single bed in his poky bedroom. He shuffled upwards, half-way out of his green sleeping bag and leant over to check the time on his iPhone. It was already eight o' clock. _Fuck, _he thought, remembering that he needed to go into CIA Headquarters today to see Saul and probably interrogate Brody. Most likely face a raging Carrie too, if her attitude on the telephone yesterday was anything to go by.

Quinn's banging headache and numb eyeballs told him that Rudy McCoy had been successful last night in convincing him that giving up whisky was a ridiculous idea. They had initially walked to the nearest bar and played a game of pool and drank various shots.

Quinn had noticed McCoy getting a lot of admiring glances last night, probably due to his perfect biceps being on display. He had been wearing a tight navy blue T-shirt with the word _GEEK _proudly emblazoned across his muscular chest in bold white letters. Before they'd left the apartment, Quinn had been curious and asked McCoy about his attire. He'd been particularly dubious about the large black rimmed glasses that McCoy was also wearing. He certainly hadn't realised that McCoy was visually impaired in any way. McCoy had laughed and admitted that the lenses were clear and non-prescription. He had insisted on wearing them, along with the tight blue T-shirt, despite Quinn's reticence. McCoy said the glasses completed his cool _Geek-Chic_ look.

McCoy had tried to convince Quinn to wear his gift of a purple T-shirt with the words _Talk Nerd to Me. _Quinn had staunchly refused, saying he was too old to attempt to make a trendy fashion statement and had insisted that his dark grey button down shirt would be fine. Quinn had pointed out, that the word _Geek_ had been around for hundreds of years and came from the English dialect, _Geck._ It had even appeared in Shakespeare's plays and _Geck_ referred to fools and freaks. McCoy had been irritated and said that Quinn really ought to wear the purple T-shirt, because he really was the biggest _Nerd _that he'd ever met in his life.

...

Once at the bar, McCoy had been hyper-sociable, buying random strangers drinks, handing out his phone number and generally being the life and soul of the party. The _Geek-Chic_ look was either doing the trick of drawing attention to his physical charms, or he clearly had the aura of a man with no ties and lots to look forward to. He was like a magnet, drawing all the happy, laughing beautiful people towards him. Quinn had been subdued, secretly apprehensive about interrogating Brody, nervous about having to work with Carrie again, but mostly gutted to be losing McCoy, his charismatic best friend, annoying lodger and extroverted drinking buddy.

McCoy had been completely oblivious to Quinn's low mood and had followed a giggling, young trendy crowd that were heading towards a rowdy Karaoke bar. Quinn had reluctantly tagged along with them, rolling his eyes when he noticed that most were wearing T-shirts with proud declarations of_ Dorks_, _Dweebs_, _Nerds _and_ Geeks. _One pretty girl was wearing a tight red top, hypocritically announcing,_ I Read Books not T-Shirts_. They were all keen to hog the microphone at the Karaoke, but Quinn had stubbornly declined to sing anything, especially not the soppy duets like _Unchained Melody _that McCoy had suggested to him. Quinn had never done Karaoke and never, ever intended to. It was possibly his worst nightmare. He had sat sipping his whisky at the back of the cheering crowd, mostly wondering what the hell he was doing there.

...

Quinn had almost cracked a smile when McCoy and a few others had been jumping around wildly on the make-shift stage and singing _Starships_ by Nicki Minaj. McCoy's bespectacled blue eyes had been eagerly searching the crowd, unsuccessfully for Quinn.

_I'm on the floor, floor _

_I love to dance _

_So give me more, more, _

_'__Til I can't stand_

_ Get on the floor, floor _

_Like it's your last chance _

_If you want more, more _

_T__hen here I am_

...

However, Quinn had slipped away home, in a state of drunken, sorrowful confusion when McCoy and a deathly pale, raven-haired girl had started belting out _Bat Out Of Hell_ by Meatloaf.

_Oh baby you're the only thing in this whole world, __that's pure and good and right. _

_And wherever you are and wherever you go, __there's always gonna be some light. _

_But I gotta get out, _

_I gotta break it out now, _

_Before the final crack of dawn. _

_So we gotta make the most of our one night together. _

_When it's over you know, _

_We'll both be so alone..._

_Like a bat out of hell _

_I'll be gone when the morning comes. _

_When the night is over _

_Like a bat out of hell _

_I'll be gone gone gone..._

...

Quinn yawned at his hazy memories of the disconcerting evening and reluctantly climbed out of his sleeping bag. He saw the _Talk Nerd to Me_ purple T-shirt lying in a crumpled heap on the bedroom floor. McCoy had been bordering on sulking after Quinn had made the _Geck_ reference about fools and freaks, mistaking it as a personal insult. He had tossed the purple T-shirt into Quinn's bedroom, before they'd gone out to the bar. He'd muttered that it might be useful for wearing as pyjamas, or to tear up into rags for cleaning Quinn's rifle, if nothing else.

Quinn felt guilty for abandoning McCoy at the Karaoke bar last night and wondered if he'd actually made it home at all. He decided to check and slipped the creased purple T-shirt on, along with a pair of black hipster pants, before strolling through to the other bedroom. He frowned when he saw that McCoy's mattress was bare, his grey sleeping bag missing. The metal clothes rail that he'd been using, was devoid of any apparel. He peeked into the closet and saw that McCoy's huge khaki rucksack was not there either. He bent down and looked under the bed. The black cases containing McCoy's rifle system and pistols were all gone.

_He's gone._ Quinn inhaled. _Rudy McCoy's gone and he's not even said goodbye... _He sighed and trudged back to his bedroom to check his iPhone for any messages. There weren't any.

…

Quinn felt dejected as he stepped under the warm water of the shower and angrily admitted to himself that he already missed the sound of McCoy partially opening the bathroom door and shouting at him to hurry up. That was his most common interruption, usually followed by poking his head around the door and singing _Relight My Fire_ loudly into his hairbrush. Quinn turned the dial on the shower until the water rushing over him felt close to freezing. He gritted his teeth as his body reacted to the thermal stress and the peripheral nerve endings in his skin sent a barrage of electrical impulses to his brain. He challenged himself to stay under the freezing torrent for as long as possible and he sadistically liked the feeling, as it quickly started to dull his emotional pain and clear his head.

Quinn checked his cell-phone whilst he dried himself with a small, rough grey towel which was a contrast to the vast fluffy white bath-sheets that he had almost become accustomed to over the last few days at the Penthouse. He hated himself for noticing that the chrome towel radiator was empty. McCoy's pink towel had gone.

…

As Quinn ate his toast for breakfast, he couldn't stand it any longer and he texted McCoy. _You've forgotten your passport._

Quinn waited for a response to his joke, but there was no reply which was highly unusual. McCoy's cell-phone was generally an extension of his hand and he was always texting somebody. It used to annoy the hell out of Quinn, especially at breakfast, but now the kitchen was eerily silent without the sound of McCoy's finger tapping away.

Quinn rested his elbows on the kitchen table and pressed his palms against his throbbing eyeballs until he saw a myriad of swirling, starry galaxies. He finally stood up, realising that he couldn't delay the inevitable any longer. He begrudgingly left apartment 202 and drove over to CIA Headquarters with the sickening prospect of having to interrogate Nicholas Brody all over again.


	24. Chapter 24: Visitors

_Many thanks to CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104 and Violet for your reviews of Chapter 23! As you can see, I'm posting Chapter 24 rather promptly - have got some tricky chapters to work on, so I'm sorry if the next update takes a little bit longer... To all readers, please leave a review if you can - it would really give me some valuable feedback & motivation to tackle the challenging chapters ahead... :-)_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 24**

After parking his car at CIA Headquarters, Peter Quinn entered the building and headed directly towards Saul's office. He was accosted in the corridor by a grinning and wide-eyed Danny Galvez, who had been miraculously resurrected at the hospital, yet again.

"Good morning, Sir." Galvez shook his hand enthusiastically, "It's nice to see you."

"You too Galvez," Quinn patted him on the back and then gestured, apologetically, down the corridor. "Sorry, I'm just on my way to..."

"I'm so glad to be back on the team. Well, what's left of it..." Galvez didn't take the hint and dug his heels in for a long conversation. "I was talking to Carrie yesterday and..."

Quinn glanced anxiously at his watch. He was already running late and certainly not in the mood for small talk about Carrie. "We might be a small, fragmented team, but we're lucky to have you back Galvez." He strode off towards Saul's office, abandoning Galvez, who remained loitering without any useful purpose, in the corridor.

…

Quinn felt a buzz in the pocket of his grey button-down shirt, that was identical to the one he'd worn last night. He pulled his iPhone out optimistically. He smiled when he saw that it was a text message from Rudy McCoy and he fumbled eagerly to read it. _My face is my passport. They'll let me fly without it._

Quinn made a sharp diversion into the restroom and tried to think of a funny joke as he started to text back._ Fly without your face?_

A buzz indicated that another text message had arrived before he'd had a chance to send his own. Quinn saved it as a draft and checked the new message from McCoy in his inbox. _Are you missing me?_

Quinn inhaled and procrastinated for about two minutes, before replying._ Why did you leave without saying anything?_

Within seconds the response arrived._ What did you want me to say?_

_Goodbye would have been nice. _Quinn quickly typed and pressed send, thinking that he may as well be honest.

The reply from McCoy made his eyes prickle._ Nice?! No it wouldn't._

Quinn paused before typing. _What time is your flight?_

The reply came instantly._ About 9pm tonight._

Quinn wondered why McCoy had gone to the Military Airbase so early, to catch his flight to Lebanon. He replied curiously, _Where are you?_

The response arrived in less than thirty seconds. _Langley. Sat at my desk. Where are you lazy bones?_

Quinn laughed and gleefully ran out of the restroom and down the corridor towards the office he shared with Rudy McCoy.

…

Quinn stood in the doorway of their office and pretended to scowl at his friend, "You idiot, I thought you'd gone!"

"I came into work early. I haven't got much done though."McCoy yawned, "I got cornered by Galvez. Boy, that guy can talk!"

Quinn rolled his eyes, "I know I just saw him."

McCoy surveyed Quinn long and hard, before asking, "So, are you psyched and ready to interrogate Brody?"

"I have a hangover," Quinn shrugged and looked over his shoulder, "Is Carrie here?"

McCoy nodded. "She's in the small meeting room with Saul... and some other people. I don't recognise them."

...

Quinn sat down heavily on his black office chair and yawned theatrically, stretching his arms high above his head. "I'm never drinking whisky again."

"I've heard that before," McCoy snorted, disbelievingly. "What a night! I never realised that you were so bad at pool!"

"I wasn't really in the mood," Quinn sighed. "I never knew you liked Karaoke so much. You were pretty good up there with all your geeky T-shirty friends."

"Come with me to Lebanon," McCoy leant forwards and gazed intently at Quinn. For a split-second their blues eyes locked and smouldered with possibilities.

"Stop eye-fucking me!" Quinn drew away and laughed, nervously, "Am I needed over there? I'm sure Dar Adal would have been in touch..."

McCoy looked out of the window and rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully. "I need you there," he whispered quietly, as he slouched, dejectedly back in his chair. Tears threatened to well in his blue eyes.

"McCoy... I'm not..." Quinn gulped for much-needed air, "I need to..."

"Don't worry, I know," McCoy regained his composure. "There's your son... and Carrie! You've got commitments, I understand, but if you ever want me..." He squared his shoulders and smiled. "To show you around Beirut, I mean..."

Quinn was relieved as he nodded, "I'll come over there sometime."

…

As the morning progressed, there was no sign of Carrie or Saul escaping from the meeting with their mysterious visitors. Quinn and McCoy had been speculating as to who they might be, but they really had no idea. They'd asked Galvez when he'd skulked into their office in search of a conversation, but he was none the wiser, apart from knowing that there was one bald male and one pretty female. Virgil had shrugged politely when they'd questioned him, but then he'd looked shifty and darted away as quickly as possible.

"I can't believe you're leaving today." Quinn watched as Rudy McCoy started to clear a mountain of paperwork off his desk, feeding most of it into the office shredder.

McCoy grinned. "You can take the man out of Beirut, but you can't take Beirut out of the man!"

"I'll miss you though," Quinn looked glum as he absent-mindedly thought out loud. "We've had some good times."

"We'll have some more. I'm sure we'll work together again," McCoy bent down and ruffled Quinn's short brown hair. "Maybe even share an apartment again?!"

Quinn smiled up at McCoy whose warm, firm fingers were lingering comfortably on his scalp.

...

"Ahem..?" At the exaggerated sound, McCoy quickly removed his fingers that had somehow got carried away slowly and tenderly massaging Quinn's skull, moving downwards, over his occipital ridge and were now heading towards the permanent tension in the _Levator scapulae_ muscle of his neck. They both turned around to see who their bashful, throat-clearing companion was.

It was Max, Virgil's weird younger brother, hovering embarrassedly in the doorway.

"Hey Max, great timing! It's so good to see you right now!" McCoy exhaled and smiled contemptuously. "Want a head massage?"

Max's eyes darted away uncomfortably. He stood stiffly and awkwardly, rooted to the spot. His knuckles whitened as he gripped tightly onto the door frame.

"Well, don't just stand there like a _Mute_," Quinn growled at him, annoyed at the interruption of his unexpected and intoxicating Indian Head Massage. "What the fuck do you want?"

"They're ready for you," mumbled Max looking at the floor.

"What?" Quinn snarled, only just catching Max's words, "Who?"

"Thistle rail ease one two torque dew," muttered Max, unintelligibly, under his breath.

"What the fuck are you talking about Max?" Quinn had always thought Max was a complete weirdo, but this surpassed everything that he'd witnessed previously. "I can't hear you. Speak up a bit!"

Max's teeth chattered slightly, like an agitated guinea pig. His chin wobbled, before he slowly raised his head and gave Quinn a piercing and disturbing glare from behind his glasses. He spoke loudly and precisely, as if Quinn was severely hard of hearing. "THE... ISRAELIS... WANT... TO... TALK... TO... YOU... MR... QUINN..." Max emphasised each word with a hand gesture, inventing his own ad hoc version of Makaton sign language.

The words hung inauspiciously in the air. Max's cheeks flushed and he immediately shrank back into his introverted shell and looked at the floor again. The movement of his hands and the sound of his own voice appeared to have scared him shitless.

Quinn and McCoy glanced at each other, utterly confused and both shrugged their shoulders simultaneously. They looked back at Max who was virtually cowering to get out of the room. They spoke in unison. "What Israelis?"

Max twitched nervously before taking a step backwards and mumbling, "They're waiting for Mr Quinn in the meeting room."

"Guess I better go... see what the fuck this is all about?!" Quinn stood up and exhaled as he looked at McCoy with a sense of foreboding.

McCoy nodded apprehensively, "I'll ring Dar Adal now and see if he knows anything."

"Thanks," Quinn hovered in the room. He desperately wanted to say goodbye to McCoy properly, even beg if he would continue the blissful head _Champissage_ next time they had the chance. However, Max was staring at them both, in a freakishly, disconcerting way.

"In case you're gone, before I get out..." Quinn whispered as he thrust his palm towards McCoy and they chastely shook hands. "Look after yourself in Beirut."

"I'll text you, "McCoy solemnly squeezed Quinn's hand tightly in return. Their fingertips brushed and lingered as they reluctantly pulled apart, each wondering if they'd ever see the other again.


	25. Chapter 25: Meeting Room

_Welcome new readers/followers/favouriters & __heartfelt gratitude to CSI Encyclopedia, LilMisfit5290, Bluestarshine & Eyesdown104 for your feedback & reviews for Chapter 24! ____Has anyone seen Hatufim (Prisoners of War) which was the inspiration for Homeland? If you haven't watched it, order it now! I have included elements of both in this chapter, but have written in a way to avoid/minimise spoilers for Hatufim. Let me know what you think, even if you haven't seen it?!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 25**

Peter Quinn walked slowly, with trepidation, towards the meeting room. He did not have any idea who these mysterious Israelis were, or why they wanted to speak with _him_. Max scuttled off, down a little-used corridor. Undoubtedly back to the dank burrow that he'd emerged from. Quinn stopped in his tracks when he saw Carrie. She was clearly agitated, running her fingers through her long blonde hair and pacing the corridor outside the dreaded meeting room. She looked up and froze when she saw Quinn, her face still contorted. For a few seconds, their blue eyes locked and they stared, apprehensively, at each other. Quinn felt like his heart was paralysed and his throat became tight. He'd almost forgotten how beautiful she was, even pulling a face like _that_ and how much he cared for her. He shuddered guiltily, as images of Rudy McCoy back in the office and Brody locked in the interrogation room, flitted alternately through his mind.

Carrie took a step towards him and Quinn braced himself for the onslaught of her anger. McCoy had said that Carrie blamed them for Brody's latest incarceration and was in an absolute rage. Quinn was taken aback when Carrie, reached out and grasped his arm tightly, her tearful eyes pleading and filled with desperation, "You've got to help me!"

Quinn gazed back at her. He felt so overwhelmed and emotional to see her again, that he was unable to speak.

"They're here to lock Brody up and throw away the key." Carrie swallowed a sob, "They won't listen to me..."

Quinn opened his mouth to reply, but the door to the meeting room suddenly swung open and Saul stood there frowning at the pair of them.

"Come in Peter," Saul sighed and wiped his dark bushy brow with a white handkerchief, "Carrie, you can go back to your office now."

…

Quinn followed Saul into the meeting room and looked over curiously at the seated Israeli visitors. He was instantly captivated by the stunningly beautiful woman with shoulder-length black hair and a sweet, flirtatious smile. She stood and held out a bare, slim, arm towards Quinn and shook his hand demurely. "Hello, I'm Iris," she breathed with an amused, curious expression in her twinkling, dark eyes. The stack of colourful bracelets on her dainty wrist rattled. She was the antithesis of Carrie's anxious persona outside the room. Iris was calm, relaxed and almost childlike. Her touch was like a warm, energetic balm that trickled into his palm.

Quinn pulled his hand away in confusion and tried not to be enchanted in a millisecond, "I'm Peter Quinn." He didn't know what the hell was going on, but as long as it involved sitting in a room with this beautiful woman, then he didn't really care. As she lowered her dark eyelashes seductively, his recent amorous thoughts about McCoy and Carrie magically started to disperse and vaporise. He felt guilty and fickle at how quickly and easily aroused he was, by somebody else. Practicalities and worries drifted into his mind, like that he was out of practice and he tried to remember the last time that he'd had full sex. He assumed that it must have been many months ago, with the ER Nurse that he wasn't that into, but he had no actual recollection of what it had been like. His more recent memory of Carrie licking his torso at the Motel was suddenly, equally hard to recall. Even McCoy's Indian head massage from only a few minutes ago, seemed irrelevant, now he was in the room with this olive-skinned Goddess, Iris. He felt the overpowering urge to lean forward and kiss her pink lips that were curving with a hint of humour. Quinn reluctantly took his eyes off her round pertness, that was tempting him from within her low-cut, floral summer dress and he turned to her staid, older male companion, who looked like he was trying not to laugh out loud, at Quinn's predictable reaction to Iris. Quinn belatedly realised that his own mouth was still open and he closed it, embarrassed that he'd almost been drooling.

The short, rotund, bald man who was wearing a navy blue button-down shirt, held out his meaty palm and nodded to Quinn curtly, as he beadily scrutinised him, "Major Haim Cohen. Military Doctor." His all-knowing eyes automatically scanned Quinn's body-language, making him feel paranoid, like he was a pervert who'd been caught in the act of mentally undressing Iris. Quinn did not dare look across at Iris again so he arched an eyebrow at Saul for an explanation of what the hell these people were doing here.

Saul was serious as he did his best to explain "Major Haim Cohen is a Military Psychologist with the Israel Defense Forces. He's the best Psychologist in the world, a leading expert on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and has debriefed countless Prisoners of War in his state of the art facility."

Haim Cohen did not rebuff the compliment, "It's true," he stated factually, writing a few secretive notes, likely about Quinn, into a battered black Moleskine notebook.

Saul continued, "Unfortunately our own Military Psychologist was blown up by Estes' car bomb at Walden's Memorial, but luckily Major Cohen and his colleague have kindly come to our aid to help us out with debriefing Nicholas Brody."

Haim Cohen nodded, "It is an honour to be here."

Saul frowned, "He is also keen to assess my staff for any signs of PTSD since the bombing."

"Well that's enough about me for now." Haim Cohen smiled, "Please tell Peter about who he is really interested in. Young Iris!"

Saul smiled over at Iris in a caring, proud, fatherly manner, "Iris is an undercover investigator working for the Israeli Government. She specialises in covertly gathering intelligence from former Prisoners of War. She finds out exactly what happened to them in captivity and particularly if there is any risk that they may have been turned..."

Iris flashed her white teeth again, in a well-worn charming smile and Quinn's heart began to sink as he now understood that Iris was probably some sort of well-honed and well-toned, honey-trap. He could easily visualise men falling for her charms and confessing their secrets, whether or not they had intended to. However, Quinn couldn't imagine Saul sending Iris in Brody's direction, considering his ongoing relationship with Carrie. _Whose benefit was Iris here for? _Despite her coy smiles clearly being directed at him, Quinn was becoming convinced that she was just practising her entrapment skills. He felt confident that his immunity against her physical charms would soon increase.

...

"So what's the plan?" Quinn asked, growing bolder, as Iris's magnetic power began the inevitable process of gradually diminishing, now that he was aware of her motives.

"Firstly, we are going to evaluate Nicholas Brody _properly,_" smiled Haim Cohen, smugly. He shot a disappointed look at Saul, as if _he_ was solely responsible for Brody not being assessed accurately the first time around. Like he'd personally allowed a potential suicide bomber to slip through the net. He continued, "We have been briefed on the sensitive nature of the current situation with Brody. We know that he was _turned _by Abu Nazir in captivity and intended to commit despicable acts of terrorism, but he later redeemed himself by becoming a double agent for the CIA. Saul said that his information was good and lead to the capture of several Al-Qaeda operatives, including Roya Hammad_."_

Saul nodded, "All the evidence suggests that Brody had no involvement in the Memorial bombing whatsoever. However, Al-Qaeda tried to frame him by using his car and releasing his old confession video."

Haim Cohen grabbed his Moleskine notebook and scribbled something.

"Brody absconded to Canada because he was scared, not because he was guilty. However, we need to make certain that he no longer poses any threat to national or international security." Saul shrugged apologetically at Quinn, "I have to cover my ass."

Haim Cohen frowned, "We must also assess Brody's mental health for ongoing conditions like Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, before he is free to leave."

Saul nodded, "Agreed."

Haim Cohen shuffled a pile of papers, "As Saul mentioned, I hope to do some routine screening of CIA staff for any mental health issues following the Memorial bombing."

Quinn's mind was racing. It all made sense. He wondered why Carrie was so scared? _Was she concerned that Brody wouldn't be able to complete the tests successfully? Or was she worried that Brody would fall for Iris?!_

"What do you need me for?" asked Quinn, nervously. He prayed that Rudy McCoy hadn't been gossiping about his recent drunken incident on the balcony at the Penthouse in Philadelphia. He hoped Haim Cohen wouldn't get a chance to question him about _that_.

"We need somebody smart and to be on the ball if Brody comes up with any actionable intelligence," drawled Saul, "And..."

Haim Cohen interrupted and scrutinised Quinn, "I understand that you have interrogated Brody before? A summary of that interrogation will be useful in planning our debriefing strategy."

Quinn nodded. "Why me? Why not Saul or Carrie? They've been involved with Brody for much longer than I have."

"I'm the Director now, I've already got too much to do, starting with overseeing the rebuilding of a team, as well as a decent building," Saul interjected. "I need someone I can _trust_ to liaise with Major Cohen and Iris... and I trust _you_, Quinn."

Quinn smiled as his wicked thought crossed his mind, _Trust me with Iris? Are you mad?_

Saul sighed, "I'm too busy anyway, keeping my eye on this new saga with Hezbollah's leaders in Lebanon. That's where Rudy McCoy is going tonight... in case we need to intervene to neutralise the situation over there."

"And Carrie?" Quinn frowned at Haim Cohen, "Will she be helping you?"

Haim Cohen laughed as if Quinn had gone insane before his eyes, "I hardly think that Brody's _Mistress_ can be objective in this matter! From what I've seen this morning, she's rather too emotional. I prefer to work with cerebral people. I prefer assistants who think rationally with their heads and not their sly, selfish hearts."

Iris frowned at her colleague, before piping up, "For some Prisoners of War, coming home is harsher than being held captive. Without proper support for reintegration into society, then it's common for family relationships to suffer, affairs to begin and marriages to fail. Extremely common in fact..."

_Affairs? I'm not surprised, especially if you're involved in their reintegration,_ thought Quinn, cynically, before realising that Carrie might not have liked to hear this information about marriages failing.

_Perhaps Carrie is afraid that these Israelis are going to repair Brody and he'll go running back to Jessica? _

_Is Carrie scared that if Brody is 'fixed' then he'll no longer want to be with her?_

They would no longer be two damaged souls clinging together as if their lives depended on each other. Brody would be given the support he needed to recover from his ordeal with Al-Qaeda and Abu Nazir, whilst Carrie would be abandoned and stuck battling with the demons of her bipolar disorder forever.

Haim Cohen looked at Iris accusingly, before smiling intimately at Quinn. "It is interesting to note that there appears to be a common phenomenon for _female_ agents to think that they have fallen in love with former Prisoners of War. It is usually a type of _Saviour Complex_, a psychological construct which makes a person feel the overwhelming need to save other people."

Saul nodded, "Major Cohen explained to me and Carrie earlier, that former POW's are often so desperate and needy, that this _Saviour Complex_ arises unconsciously in agents. This often leads to them over-stepping their professional boundaries." He sighed, "I believe that it would be in Carrie's best interests to be assessed for this condition."

Quinn frowned, "What does Carrie think about that?"

"I don't know," shrugged Saul, "She stormed out of the room."

"I'm sure Iris won't mind if I share that she once found herself in a similar situation, with a particularly needy Israeli POW." Haim Cohen smirked, "However, I have counselled Iris so effectively that she is now _almost_ at the satisfactory point of having _no feelings whatsoever_ for the man."

The guilty look on Iris's face told Quinn all he needed to know. _Bullshit._ Iris was still in love with her own POW, just like Carrie was hopelessly infatuated with Brody.

...

Iris looked mortified and Quinn felt sorry for her, as Haim Cohen and Saul moved on to looking at some paperwork.

_Was it love, or could Carrie be suffering from Saviour Complex? _Quinn didn't know which was worse, the thought that Carrie was clinging to somebody like Brody, simply because he was as needy, sick and damaged as herself. Or that Carrie was afraid of being left heartbroken and alone without Brody, if he got fixed? Quinn frowned. _Perhaps Haim Cohen could try to rehabilitate Carrie, as well as Brody?_

Quinn vowed to take responsibility and look after Carrie, regardless, because after his son, John, she was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most precious thing in his life. Rudy McCoy didn't need him, he could look after himself, but fragile Carrie certainly needed someone to look out for her. Someone she could trust and rely on as they entered the turmoil ahead. Quinn started to wonder if he might be having a bout of _Saviour Complex_ himself.

...

Quinn glanced into Haim Cohen's battered briefcase as he rummaged fervently, to retrieve some additional paperwork. In a clear plastic bag, were a selection of ampoules, vials and syringes. Quinn frowned and wondered what they were. He leant closer and could just about read the label on one vial, _amobarbital sodium. _He gasped and spoke without thinking, "Truth Serum?"

Haim Cohen looked up from his briefcase and smiled, coldly. "Agent Quinn, I do not perform narco-analysis. These medicines are sedatives to help my patients with insomnia." He made a show of laying out some papers in front of him and snapped his briefcase firmly closed, "Do you have any other questions?"

Quinn frowned and looked at Iris who was now texting away on her cell-phone, "What is Iris actually going to do here?"

Haim Cohen smiled secretively, "You and Iris will work _closely_ together to help me... and each other."

"Fair enough!" Quinn shrugged, nonchalantly. _Surely working with a professional seductress wouldn't be all that bad? _He couldn't wait to tell Rudy McCoy.

"Well, let us begin," Haim Cohen put a pair of round spectacles on the end of his nose. "Tell me everything that you know about Congressman Brody."


	26. Chapter 26: Three Kisses

_Thank you__ Eyesdown104 & CSI Encyclopedia for your reviews of Chapter 25!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 26**

After an afternoon that oscillated between exhilarative and exhaustive, Peter Quinn had candidly shared every tiresome detail that he could recall about Nicholas Brody, with the Military Psychologist, Haim Cohen and his bouncy investigative assistant, Iris. Every element of his undeviating testimony had been painstakingly cross-verified to validate it. Quinn's brain now throbbed like he'd been interrogated himself. At long last, he was permitted to leave the poky meeting room and he walked shakily back to his own office. He vaguely hoped that Rudy McCoy would still be there and might even have time to give him another head massage to relax him. He wasn't. There was only a fluorescent pink post-it note stuck on his desk, written in McCoy's extravagant swirling script.

_Ring DA. RM. xxx_

Quinn chuckled nervously at the three kisses and hoped that he hadn't lead McCoy on this morning, by allowing himself to be the recipient of his massaging skills. Quinn shrugged, it was just _Champissage_ after all, not intimate or suggestive in any way. _Just a great way to relieve tension._ He forced himself not to think about McCoy's warm, firm fingers gently compressing his aching neck muscles. Oh, what he would give for that now. He extracted his iPhone from his pocket and telephoned Dar Adal, as instructed by McCoy's note.

...

Dar Adal hooted loudly, amused to hear all about Saul's peculiar plans to psychologically examine and rehabilitate Brody and possibly Carrie too. He postulated that it might be a cover for something else and he would telephone Saul later, to find out. He snorted and said Saul was audacious to even consider letting Brody walk free, considering his involvement in the remote hacking of the Vice-President's pacemaker. Although, Dar Adal confessed that both himself and Saul had considered Walden to be a war criminal themselves on occasions, for some of the more sickening missions that they had dutifully executed in his name.

He suggested that Saul was giving Brody a second chance because he was soft and overly sentimental about Carrie. Quinn was inclined to agree with him, however, Dar Adal conceded that as a double agent for the CIA, Brody's information, gleaned from Abu Nazir, had been good and actionable. It had enabled the capture of Roya Hammad and other Al-Qaeda operatives which should count for something.

Dar Adal speculated on whether Brody would ever cause any problems in the future, now that Abu Nazir and his personal nemesis, Bill Walden was dead. Like Saul, he didn't believe that Brody was responsible for the Memorial bombing, having seen all of the evidence that indicted David Estes and other unknown operatives. It appeared to be a cruel stunt pulled by Al-Qaeda, firstly by using Brody's SUV, then releasing his old confession video. The ultimate punishment and final turn of the screw from the ghost of Abu Nazir.

Before Dar Adal said goodbye he warned that if the power quandary got any worse with Hezbollah's leaders in Lebanon , then Quinn might need to fly over there to help McCoy. Quinn frowned because ideally he wanted to devote his time to looking after Carrie and keeping a close eye on Haim Cohen. He hoped that he wouldn't have to depart until Carrie and Brody had undertaken their psychological evaluations and were free to leave.

Quinn tried not to think about Carrie's future if Brody failed the Psychologist's tests. He shivered as he recalled the ampoules, vials and syringes in Haim Cohen's briefcase. _Were they really just sedatives for insomnia? What if Brody did have secrets about Al-Qaeda? What if the truth serum brought it all out?_ Quinn cared about Carrie's feelings, but he cherished national security a hell of a lot more. If there was a chance that Brody did have any secrets, or even atrocities up his sleeve, then he would assist Haim Cohen and Iris in any way that he could. He'd jab a syringe full of truth serum into Brody's pale ass himself. Carrie's too, if necessary.

…

Quinn was startled from his contemplation of Carrie's ass, as she marched into the office, unexpectedly. "So are you going to help me?" she demanded, guardedly. Carrie was jittery and three green marker pens fell out of her jacket pocket.

"Yes, of course!" Quinn retrieved the pens from the floor and held on to them tightly, as he curiously eyed a clear plastic container, brimming with colourful push pins, in her hand.

"Well, let's go...!" Carrie clutched his forearm and gestured to the door with a swift inclination of her head. "Let's get Brody out of here! Before the Israelis have a chance to torture him!"

"Whoa!" Quinn extricated his arm and stared at her in disbelief. "They're not going to torture him! They're planning on helping him! Check he's fit and well enough to be released... to live with you."

"Bullshit!" spat Carrie, "They're going to interrogate and torture him! Get a false confession for the Memorial bombing and keep him locked up indefinitely. I just figured it all out on my cork board! Come and see!"

"Carrie! I think that your imagination is running wild!" Quinn cautiously put the three greens pens down onto his desk and he reached slowly for her shoulder and stroked it gently, "Doctor Cohen is here to help Brody. And you too."

"Help? What the fuck do I need help for?" She shoved Quinn away before laughing manically. "Oh, I get it. He's told you about this _Saviour Complex _nonsense! Well, I'm not like that fucking... fl-fl-fl... fl-irty, flo-oozy... fl-oral, flowery... flytrap girl. Agent Iris!"

Quinn put his palm up and scowled, "Hey, calm down! Young Iris seems nice enough..."

Carrie pouted and patted her hand onto her décolletage, "Oh, I knew _you'd_ say that, just because she has a bit of cleavage on display..."

Quinn shrugged and an impish gleam crept into his eyes, at the unanticipated flashback, "I have no issues with her cleavage whatsoever!"

Carrie gritted her teeth, "Anyway, Brody and I aren't together because we're both mentally ill, or because I have _Saviour Complex_... I'm with him because..."

"Oh, spare me the hearts and flowers, Carrie!" Quinn glared at her, contemptuously, before losing his temper. He slammed his fist onto the desk, making the three green marker pens jump. "Let me guess? You're with Brody because you _love _him? You _love_ him so completely, that you jumped on _me_ at the Motel only a few days ago, or have you forgotten that already?!"

"Shhhh..." Carrie winced and looked at the door anxiously, as she lowered her voice, "Of course I haven't forgotten! Until Brody was locked up, I couldn't think about anything else, but _you_! I was so worried about _you_, Quinn, I felt sick! You didn't come back to Langley... then Rudy said you were drinking heavily and living it up in the Ritz-Carlton in Phildelphia!"

Quinn bit his lip at the memory, "I just needed some time alone... to think..."

Carrie gently placed the box of push pins down on McCoy's desk, before she put her hands on her hips, assertively. "Well, what _did_ you think about?"

"You and Brody... _Us_..." Quinn rubbed his temples, dejectedly and sat down, heavily on his office chair.

Carrie gazed at the floor, fidgeting, before she glowered back at Quinn with confusion, "_Us?!"_

Quinn was embarrassed, so he snarled to hide it, "Don't worry, there's no _us_ and never will be..."

Carrie let out a sigh, "I know, I know... and you have Rudy, apparently?"

"Rudy McCoy?" Quinn pffted, dismissively, "We're not together! He might be bi-sexual, but I'm certainly not..." Quinn repeated it for his own benefit as much as Carrie's, "I'm not! Not that it matters, anyway."

Carrie sneered, "But then why did Max tell Virgil that..."

Quinn leapt up and hissed angrily, nose to nose with Carrie, "Just tell your gophers to keep their pesky noses out of my personal life, OK!"

Carrie looked like she was going to say something else, but instead she picked up the pink post-it note that McCoy had left for Quinn. Quinn was annoyed that '_RM xxx' _seemed to leap off the page at them. "That's just McCoy," Quinn mocked, forcing a pantomime wink, "You know what he's like."

...

They both stood silently for a moment, before Quinn hastily brought the conversation back to Brody. "I really want to help you Carrie, but I do think these psych evaluations are important for both you and Brody... after what you've been through."

"I've seen enough doctors and shrinks to last a lifetime, since I was twenty-two..." Carrie's face clouded and she flopped down onto McCoy's chair. "Brody and I had just found some sort of peace together and Haim Cohen is going to destroy it, by turning it into a mutual psychological illness!"

"Just tell Haim Cohen what he wants to hear, then once he's back in Israel, you can jump back into bed with Brody!" Quinn frowned and sat opposite Carrie, "Iris went through the process and she still loves her POW..."

Carrie laughed, bitterly,"The beautiful, flowery-dressed Iris? I think Doctor Cohen has just dragged _her_ along to prove that I'm some sort of cliché. Just another female spy who's fallen for a POW."

Quinn gnashed his teeth, "You're a lot of annoying things Carrie, but you ain't no fucking cliché!"

"Oh, come on! Surely you think I'm the stereotypical, hysterical, infatuated female," Carrie berated herself. "My sister, Maggie told me I'm like Bella fucking Swan in _The Twilight Saga_!"

"From what McCoy told me about _Twilight_, you're probably as reckless and stubborn as Bella," Quinn muttered, "So what does that make Brody?"

"My tormented, blood-lusting boyfriend who hates himself for being a monster?" Carrie shrugged, forlornly, "I don't know! I'm so confused right now, Quinn."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. Like I said to Rudy in Philadelphia, _The heart wants what the heart wants..."_

Carrie swallowed and looked away with a pained expression, "You ought to know better than to tell Rudy McCoy quotes about _the heart_, Quinn!"

"Why?" Quinn inclined his head, puzzled, "Walden's pacemaker?"

Carrie rolled her eyes at Quinn, like he had missed the point completely. She made a possessive grab for her three green marker pens. "I don't know any quotes about hearts, but my Dad always says... _Love is like war; easy to begin, but very hard to stop._"

Quinn arched an eyebrow inquisitively and wondered if she was going to elaborate._ Damn, she's so cryptic sometimes! __Was she talking about Brody, or perhaps Rudy McCoy? _He knew that Carrie idolised McCoy, her legendary "Beiruti life-saver" and they were not averse to flirting with each other on occasions._ I wonder what Haim Cohen will make of Carrie? Love is like war? What does she mean? Brody? It's got to be all about Brody... Does she want to stop the war? Or stay in the war? Begin a new war? _

"My Dad was right about love. It _is_ like a war... and there's always going to be casualties..." Carrie upturned the container of colourful push pins on McCoy's desk, before she stood up and walked out of the office, without another word.


	27. Chapter 27: Entrapment

_Thank you__ CSI Encyclopedia, LilMisfit5290, Eyesdown104 & Bluestarshine for your reviews of Chapter 26 (and for keeping me entertained with your wonderful stories)._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 27**

Saul had given Haim Cohen permission to interrogate Brody and use whatever techniques that he deemed appropriate. No stone was to be left unturned. Brody appeared to fully co-operating with the Israeli Psychologist. On his monitor in the adjoining room, Quinn could see it plainly in Brody's tired eyes and he was convinced that Brody had nothing to hide any more. He yawned and glanced across at Iris. She clearly had not been as gripped as Quinn, because she was serenely dozing.

Brody had emphatically described how he'd flicked the switch and attempted to detonate his suicide vest in the bunker, but it had failed to go off. How Dana's frantic telephone call had interfered with his second attempt and she had unknowingly talked him down. He sobbed about brutally beating his compatriot, Tom Walker, in Iraq and murdering him in the tunnel. He explained how Bassel the Tailor from Gettysburg had become impaled on the ground in the woods, after Brody had tried to take him to a safe house. How Bassel was bleeding profusely and begged Brody to take him to the hospital, telling him that he had a wife and daughter in Syria. Brody demonstrated how he'd deliberately snapped Bassel's neck whilst trying to talk calmly to Jessica on his cell-phone...

Saul hadn't batted an eyelid at these confessions. He already knew about the vest and had labelled Walker and Bassel as terrorists anyway. Brody had even elaborated on Bill Walden's death and how he'd been with him when his pacemaker was remotely accessed. He even described pulling the telephone away from Walden, so he couldn't call for help. Saul had already known about Brody's involvement in Walden's death, but the fact he was willing to share so much extra detail had the effect of reassuring Saul that Brody was fully co-operating with the Psychologist.

The most shocking revelation for Saul, however, had been how Congressman Brody had texted _May 1_ to Abu Nazir, from the situation room at the Pentagon, in order to warn him of their kill or capture operation on Hamra Street in Beirut. This concerned Saul more than anything else, because Brody had not been threatened or coerced into sending that text. He'd done it without influence from Roya Hammad or any other Al-Qaeda operative. Brody did it because part of him still loved Nazir and felt indebted to him... and every part of him hated Walden. Saul took it as a personal attack and insult, because himself, Rudy and Carrie had set up that particular operation in Beirut, with CIA Operations head, Scott Ryan calling the shots, along with Estes and Galvez back in the US. Out of all of Brody's grisly confessions, the text warning to Abu Nazir was the most frightening for Saul. Who was to say that he wouldn't do that again? Would he have tried to warn Osama bin Laden, if he'd had the opportunity? Which other comrades of Nazir would Brody deem worthy of warning from afar? Saul decided that he needed to think long and hard about the implications of this, although the fact that Brody had confessed to it at all was reassuring.

Quinn hadn't been shocked to learn the extent of Brody's terrorist activities. He'd already known about most of it, but it was still incredible to hear the man himself describe it so graphically. Brody was emotional as he bared his soul to Haim Cohen. He broke down numerous times. The Psychologist remained cool and calm the whole time. Just writing the occasional note and getting Brody to repeat his testimony over and over again. Quinn thought about how many of the men in the Guantanamo Bay Detention Camp were probably less guilty and less of a terrorist than Brody. It was almost unthinkable that Brody was going to be released as a free man after what he'd done, but Quinn trusted Saul's judgement. Like Dar Adal had said, the role Brody played in the capture of Roya Hammad and the others counted for a lot... but would it be enough?

...

The lunchtime stroll with Iris was a pleasant interlude for Quinn. They meandered, at ease with each other, through the woodland. They laughed a lot and it was a welcome break from having to watch and listen to Haim Cohen asking the same questions to Brody, repeatedly. It had been three days now and he was still checking for any discrepancies in Brody's account of his eight years in captivity, followed by his entire version of the events since he was released.

Iris was friendly and good fun and Quinn found himself telling her all about John, his four year old son, in Philadelphia. He also confided that he had strong feelings for Carrie, but it was unrequited, because she was in a relationship with Brody. He soon regretted telling Iris about that, in case she told Haim Cohen. He didn't want the Psychologist knowing too much about him. Quinn was momentarily perplexed about why it was so easy to talk to Iris, but then he remembered that she was an entrapment expert and used to getting men to talk.

Iris spoke lovingly and endlessly about her relationship with her Israeli boyfriend, Uri, who, like Brody, was a former Prisoner of War. He had been held hostage by terrorists for seventeen years, after his reserve unit was sent deep into Lebanon for a covert mission that had failed. Upon his return, she was supposed to spy on him to see if he had been turned, but she had fallen in love with him instead. She begged Quinn, not to tell Haim Cohen that they were still in a relationship because he did not approve. He believed Iris was suffering from _Saviour Complex_, which made her want to rescue damaged men. Iris laughed and said that Haim Cohen was trying to push herself and Quinn together, in the hope that it would take her mind off her lover back in Israel. It was supposed to help with her recovery from her alleged _Saviour Complex_.

"Is it working?" Quinn raised an eyebrow, teasingly, "Am I taking your mind off him? Am I any good at the entrapment of beautiful female spies?"

"No, not at all!" Iris punched him on the arm, playfully, "If you were any good then Carrie would be falling at your feet by now."

"Please don't tell Haim about Carrie..." frowned Quinn, "I think he might use it against me."

Iris chuckled merrily, "As long as you don't tell Haim that I'm planning to marry Uri one day!"

…

Carrie scowled as a giggling Quinn and Iris walked back into the building together, arm in arm. She strode over and dragged Quinn away, asking if he had time for a quiet word.

"Sure!" Quinn turned back around to look at Iris, her long black ponytail swinging, as she sashayed down the corridor in search of Haim Cohen.

"What's going on with you and Iris?" Carrie pursed her lips and looked perturbed.

"Why do you want to know?" Quinn laughed out loud, "You think I'm fucking her?"

Carrie shrugged, "Saul asked me to find out."

"Well then, tell him that I'm fucking her." Quinn eyes twinkled wickedly, assuming that it was really Haim Cohen who wanted to know the status of Iris's entrapment, "Tell him to report to his Psychologist buddy, that I have successfully cured Iris of her _Saviour Complex_."

"You're fucking her?" Carrie's eyes widened, "Seriously? You've only known her for a few days!"

"Apparently the only cure for _Saviour Complex_ is a good hard dose of Peter Quinn." He smirked and reached for the buckle on his belt, "So, if you want to be cured yourself, then I'll be more than happy to oblige."

"Go to hell Quinn!" Carrie flushed scarlet and she turned on her heels, back towards Saul's office, before shouting over her shoulder, "I'd rather fuck Max, while Saul and Virgil watch!"

At that precise moment, Virgil and Max emerged from a dark storeroom, lugging some computer equipment. Catching the latter part Carrie's declaration, Max stumbled over his own feet and dropped the monitor that he was carrying. The screen cracked and he stared at the floor, mortified.

"She's a lot sicker than I realised..." Virgil's jaw hung open, his face frozen in shock and disgust as he watched Carrie stomping away.

Quinn snarled at them both and kicked the broken screen, "Fucking Morons!"


	28. Chapter 28: Frosty Pants

_Thanks__ CSI Encyclopedia, LilMisfit5290, Bluestarshine & Eyesdown104 for your reviews of Ch 27. ____This chapter is dedicated to an inspirational outlier... plus de sous-vêtements pour vous! ;-)_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 28**

It was after midnight when Peter Quinn ascended the flight of stairs to his apartment. He'd dawdled and delayed it for as long as he possibly could tonight. Like the previous evening, he knew that it would be too quiet and lonely now that Rudy McCoy had moved out. Prior to having a lodger he used to rejoice in his silent retreat from reality, a place of solitude where he could read Dickens or surf internet pornography in peace. Hardly anyone knew where he lived and the only unexpected visitor that he'd ever had was Saul, the night that he'd proudly brandished the transcription of the telephone call between Abu Nazir and David Estes. The document that appeared to exonerate Brody for the bombing at Walden's Memorial and incriminate Estes as the unlikely Jihadist Martyr.

Quinn suspected though, that either Saul, or more likely his moronic snoops, Virgil and Max, had been in his apartment long before that evening. _How else could Saul have found out about Julia and John?_ His battered old polaroid photograph was the only physical evidence in existence that they had any links whatsoever. _Proof that he had a son._ His name wasn't even on John Diaz's birth certificate. Quinn recalled the night that Julia had telephoned him from the Police Headquarters on West Somerset Street in Philadelphia, informing him that a bear-like IRS guy had been sniffing around with a copy of the photograph. Quinn told Julia that she did _fine_ and then promptly initiated the emergency _two-hat_ protocol of meeting Dar Adal on the bus when his fake identity was in jeopardy. Dar Adal had frowned as the security breach was relayed. He then cryptically declared that he'd take care of Saul when the time came and _waffle_ enough to placate him. Quinn guessed this most likely alluded to Dar Adal's habitual visits to _Walter's Waffles_ every Tuesday, probably since time immemorial.

Quinn stared at his polaroid of John and wondered if Carrie knew about his son. She'd never mentioned anything. _Would Saul have told her?_ Virgil would have for sure, unless he'd been instructed otherwise by Saul. _Did it matter if Carrie knew about John?_ Probably not in the grand scheme of things, but he'd enjoyed talking about his son today with Iris. She seemed to like kids. She seemed to like everything. Or maybe it was all part of her job? To like whatever men talked about. Quinn frowned and knew that he'd never have that problem with Carrie. She'd just tell him to shut the fuck up if she wasn't interested in whatever he was talking about. He liked that, because he knew that he wouldn't hesitate to say the same to her. He hoped that he could have a straight conversation with Carrie soon, with no more, _Love is like War_ riddles. No more lies about fucking Iris. _Carrie often mentioned her nieces, Josie and Ruby, so perhaps she'd be vaguely interested in John's existence?_ Quinn sighed and shook his head sadly, surmising that once Brody's interrogation was over, Dana and Chris would be more prominent in Carrie's life, than John could ever be.

...

After some melancholy contemplation Quinn started getting undressed, ready to take a shower. His iPhone started ringing and he saw that it was a Skype call from Rudy McCoy. Typical, he thought, that McCoy should call him in the middle of the night when he had just that moment stripped down to his underwear. He debated whether to answer it, or slip a T-shirt on first. He grabbed the purple _Talk Nerd to Me_ T-shirt off his bed and held it front of his chest as he answered.

It was a video call. McCoy's sweaty, dust-streaked face filled the screen, "Hey buddy! I can't see you! Put the camera on!"

"Give me a second..." Quinn slipped the T-shirt over his head before pressing the touchscreen to start the video transmission.

"Hey, you're wearing the purple _Nerd_ T-shirt that I got you!" McCoy grinned brightly and rubbed his stubble, "Have you worn that to work today?"

Quinn snorted scornfully, "What do you think?"

"Didn't think so," McCoy pretended to sulk. "Isn't it about one o' clock over there? Have you just got out of the shower or something? I thought you might be in bed and I could whisper sweet nothings to you..."

"No, I'm about to head in the shower..." Even though it was late, Quinn had been sweating for most of the day, on Brody's behalf. Also, Iris's sickly floral perfume seemed to cling to everything within ten feet of her.

"Don't let me stop you... I could do with a shower myself." McCoy ran his grimy fingers through his dusty hair and gesticulated to a door behind him. "We're seven hours ahead over here and I've been in the fucking sand all night."

"I didn't think there were any deserts in Lebanon?"

"There aren't!" McCoy frowned, "I've been working on the beach."

"I'm not even going to ask... Anyway, I'll talk to you before my shower, unless you want me to bring my cell-phone into the bathroom? Might steam the lens up a bit though..." Quinn joked, then hesitated, "Sorry I shouldn't have said that. Not to you, anyway..."

"I'm glad you said it." McCoy's eyes lit up as he teased saucily, "It'll give me something _steamy_ to think about later..."

"Shut up McCoy." Quinn bit his lip, disconcerted, "Haven't you found someone to flirt with over in Beirut yet?"

"Well, that'd be telling..." McCoy chuckled, "Anyway, talking of flirting, who's this _Iris_ girl?"

"Iris?" Quinn frowned, "She's helping the Psychologist who's debriefing Brody..." _Why is McCoy asking about Iris?_

"Yes, I know that. Saul told me earlier." McCoy momentarily looked irritated, "He also told me that you were personally looking after Iris. You took her out for dinner tonight?"

"I'm not sure what you're implying, McCoy?" Quinn flinched at the CIA's rumour mill and chinese whispers. "Me and Iris grabbed some food after work and now I'm home. Alone."

"She's not interested in you?" McCoy looked dubious.

"I'm not interested." Quinn shrugged, dismissively, "She has a boyfriend."

"What difference does that make?" McCoy sulked for real this time, "Carrie has a boyfriend, but you're still interested in her!"

Quinn smirked, "Carrie told me today that she'd rather fuck Max, than me."

"Ouch! She never told me that when I called her earlier!" McCoy laughed loudly, his apparent jealousy quickly forgotten. "That's too bad. Carrie must really despise you."

"I'm pretty sure she does, but she's so vulnerable right now." Quinn frowned, "She's stressed with Brody's ongoing assessment, so it's my duty to look after her."

"Your duty?" McCoy pffted, "What are you? Her knight in shining armour!"

"I don't know." Quinn slouched helplessly, "You know how I feel about her... I've got to help her somehow. Anyway... why did you telephone Carrie earlier?"

"Carrie and I talk about stuff regularly. Personal stuff." McCoy smiled, secretively. "So you're not interested in this Iris?"

Quinn was becoming exasperated and he was also slightly aggrieved that Carrie and McCoy were seemingly confiding in each other about God knows what. "No I'm not. Iris is absolutely beautiful, but I'm just not that into her."

"Can you send me a photo?" McCoy asked seriously, "_I_ might be into her."

"Do you ever think about anything other than women?" scolded Quinn, annoyed at his friend's relentless one track mind.

"Yes!" McCoy laughed, "Men too, sometimes..."

"Honestly...!" Quinn exhaled testily and rolled his eyes.

McCoy started chuckling to himself, "Give me a minute..."

...

Quinn saw McCoy stand up and leave the sparse room. He could now see that his friend was wearing a pair of grubby, sand-coloured camouflage combat trousers and nothing else. His tanned muscular torso was streaked with sweat, dirt and dust, matching his filthy, radiant face.

He eyed McCoy's six-pack enviously and appreciatively as he leisurely wandered back into the room and sat down again. Quinn heard some rustling, then McCoy readjusted the screen as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He was obviously eating something.

"What are you doing?" Quinn frowned, curiously. "Having your breakfast?"

McCoy smiled, "I'm just having a Popsicle. I need ice. It's so hot in here. It's only eight o' clock and feels about eighty five degrees already. No air con." He stuck his tongue out to catch the drips.

"For God's sake, I don't want to watch you eat that!" Quinn's jaw dropped and he was simultaneously troubled and mesmerised as McCoy licked the orange ice pop that was rapidly melting. "You're making me feel uncomfortable!"

"Why?" McCoy held it sideways and licked the entire length.

Quinn covered the screen of his iPhone with his hand, "For God's sake, put it down!"

"Peter Quinn, am I driving you wild?!" McCoy was clearly now falling about with laughter.

"No, you're driving me insane." Quinn shouted back angrily and peeked at the screen. "Stop messing about. You're stressing me out!"

"You need another head massage, _Mr Frosty Pants_?" McCoy arched an eyebrow, grinning.

"Yes! No... No I don't. I need a sensible conversation." Quinn stuttered. "Why have you phoned me anyway?"

The ice pop was obviously melting too fast and the remnants fell off the wooden stick onto McCoy's trousers. "Fuck..."

Quinn looked away, "Just leave your trousers on McCoy! I don't want to see your designer boxer shorts..."

"Why? I've seen yours often enough. You're always wandering around in your tight black hipsters!" McCoy was now trying to remove his own trousers one-handed. "I'm surprised you're not sat there in your underpants right now! You usually are at this time. Or was the aimless _wandering-around-in-your-pants_ for my benefit, you wanton trollop?!"

The camera accidentally zoomed in on one of McCoy's muscular thighs and Quinn closed his eyes as he spoke. "I am wearing my pants, actually! I just put my T-shirt on to cover up when you phoned."

"Spoilsport! I like seeing your body." The naked thigh disappeared and McCoy's handsome, beaming face was back on the screen. "Take your _Nerd_ T-shirt off..."

"Honestly McCoy... give it a rest." Quinn scowled and clutched his purple T-shirt tightly, as if to stop it vaporising. "Your innuendos are becoming lame now. If I was that way inclined, I'd have let you know by now..."

"Try it." McCoy winked, dirtily, "Go on. For me."

"No, I don't want to. Just drop it. I'm not as enlightened as you." Quinn looked to the heavens for divine guidance. "I only like women. End of story. I like Carrie..."

"You like _me_ too." McCoy's eyes twinkled seductively as he leant towards the camera. "Strip for me, Quinn. Nobody will ever know..."

In a fearsome panic, Quinn lost his temper and jumped up, "If you don't shut the fuck up and stop chasing me around the metaphorical table, then I swear I'll fly over to Beirut and punch your pretty lights out."

"So...you think I'm pretty?"

"Drop it McCoy. I actually think you're a tart. You tease everyone!" Quinn was furious now, "You and Iris could give each other tips! She's a tease too. She's an entrapment expert."

McCoy frowned at this information. "Who's she supposed to be entrapping at Langley?"

"Me!"

"So you're holding out against her charms?" McCoy pouted, before winking again mischievously. "How long are you going to hold out against _mine_?"

"McCoy... I know you're a predator and used to getting your own way. Both sexes swooning at your feet, but it ain't happening OK. I can't even believe we're having this conversation. You're embarrassing me. You're harassing me!"

"Report me to Dar Adal then!" McCoy smiled, "Or tell me once and for all that you don't care?"

"I don't care. I don't fucking care for you OK! I like you as a friend, but even that's in jeopardy at the moment, you...you... pervert!" Quinn was pacing his apartment now and looking for something to punch.

"You're living a lie, _Mr Frosty Pants_! You're missing out on all the fun."

Quinn froze and he glared at the screen icily, before the heat of his anger caused a fierce glacial surge from within. "It's time for you to fuck off, McCoy. I'm done with this conversation You promised me at the Penthouse in Philadelphia that you'd never make a pass at me, but now it's incessant! It's unacceptable and I can't cope with you forcing your _bi_ shit on me any longer. I'm going to switch my phone off now."

"Please don't..." McCoy pleaded and looked scared, before becoming serious, "I'm just... kidding around. Winding you up. I called to let you know that I might be out of range for a few days. Special Ops stuff. It's all kicking off later today. It could get nasty."

"Well that's your job! That's what you're trained for, isn't it?" Quinn replied as coldly as he could.

McCoy shrugged and a flicker of unease briefly crossed his blue eyes, "It's a high-risk operation. I mean really risky."

"Well, best of luck, then..." Quinn tailed off dismissively, pretending he couldn't care less and also knowing better than to ask any detailed questions on Skype.

"Thanks... I'm sorry if I've pissed you off... It's just...I really..."

"Shut up. This conversation is over." Quinn pursed his lips and he glared, his anger rising again. "If you don't like it then... stay the fuck away from me."

McCoy's blue eyes glistened sadly as he nodded. "I'll be touch... sometime soon, I hope..."

Quinn snarled, "Yeah. Whatever... Bye!"

...

As soon as the call had ended, Quinn stared guiltily at the blank screen of his iPhone and felt rotten for being so rough on his best friend McCoy. He knew that for all his flirtatious joking and bawdy extraversion that McCoy was a complex, gentle and sensitive soul really. He thought about calling him back to apologise, but decided against it in case McCoy called him _Frosty Pants_ and asked him to do a striptease again. He'd leave it a few days. It was time for McCoy to learn that his sexy teasing wasn't always welcome. It was inappropriate. It was disturbing him. _It was confusing him_...

Quinn hardly dare admit it, but the image of the dripping orange Popsicle had scarred itself onto his retina. _For fuck's sake. No! No! No!_ He knew that he'd probably observe the spectre later and dream about it, whether he wanted to or not.


	29. Chapter 29: Noxious Attachment

_Thanks__ so much for the kind reviews & pm's regarding Ch 28. Glad you lovelies liked it. I enjoyed writing it! ;-)_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 29**

Peter Quinn opened a bottle of whisky after his fractious telephone call with Rudy McCoy. He drank two glasses before his shower, then four more afterwards. Once in bed he couldn't sleep. He was too hot in more ways than one and tossed and turned in his sleeping bag, before sitting bolt upright in the dark.

He grabbed his iPhone and checked the time. It was three o' clock in the morning. He removed his purple _Talk Nerd to Me_ T-shirt and discarded it carelessly, along with his inhibitions. He pressed McCoy's number. This was ridiculous. They needed to talk.

_Perhaps there's no harm in a little dirty talk when he's almost six thousand miles away?_ Quinn chuckled, slightly nervous, but mostly drunk and becoming increasingly aroused with anticipation. _Let's see how Rudy McCoy likes being ordered to strip!_

He frowned as the call didn't connect and through his shaky vision managed to see that McCoy was showing as offline on Skype.

He sighed as he fumbled with the touchscreen to try FaceTime. Nothing.

_Fucking typical,_ he grumbled to himself.

He decided to attempt a text message and was semi-thankful for auto-correct. _I'll giv it's a go if u show me what todo xxx_

After sending the text, Quinn closed his eyes. As the sensation of his bed spinning began, he wasn't sure if he was falling asleep, or passing out.

...

When Quinn woke in the morning he was still clutching his iPhone to his bare chest. He groaned when he remembered sending McCoy a saucy text and was unsure whether to be relieved that there was still no reply.

He climbed out of bed and popped a couple of Advil painkillers. He needed to forget about last night and get into work. It would be business as usual and soon be time to sit down with Iris and watch Brody being shredded by the Psychologist all over again.

...

Haim Cohen's scrutiny of Brody was unwavering and despite his lingering headache, Quinn noticed that the Psychologist had started to change tack today. It appeared that Haim was now satisfied that Brody was telling the truth about his captivity and all the horrific events that had subsequently occurred. It was almost time for Saul to make the final call as to whether Brody was still a suspect, or a threat in any shape or form. _Would he be locked up indefinitely, or free to leave?_

The Psychologist moved on to evaluate Brody's _Post Traumatic Stress Disorder_. Peter Quinn was bored and idly read through the notes where Haim had already recorded that Brody was constantly reliving his experiences with vivid dreams and flashbacks. He was hyper-vigilant, nervy, jumpy and prone to paranoid reactions and aggression.

Quinn flicked on a few pages and saw it confirmed that Brody also suffered from insomnia. It seemed that Haim had quickly prescribed something for that on the first day._ I wonder if he gave Brody a few shots of the amobarbital sodium_? Quinn pondered, recalling that it was sometimes used as a truth serum.

...

In the small meeting room, after lunch, Quinn listened as Haim explained in great detail to Saul about why prisoners of war were at a much greater risk of developing PTSD than combat veterans. Haim made it clear that he'd written many academic papers on the subject.

Haim was unwavering in his staunch ideas for Brody's rehabilitation. "It is very important that Nicholas's family become involved in his treatment plan to provide support and encouragement for his condition."

"Do you mean Carrie, or Jessica and the kids?" Saul frowned. "Obviously you know that Brody's marriage has already broken down..."

"Everybody needs to help Nicholas," Haim smiled, steadfastly. "Perhaps Jessica will be willing to try some belated counselling, so she can learn to listen, empathise, be patient and loving with her husband. PTSD may not be curable but it can be controlled with the right support."

"But Jessica has a new partner," Quinn interjected. "Her and Mike Faber live together!"

Haim shrugged, "When Nicholas came back from Iraq, he was emotionally numb and feeling completely detached due to the frightening influence of Nazir and his PTSD. He found it difficult to have loving feelings towards his wife. Perhaps if Mrs Brody understands how afraid and ill her husband really was... and still is, then she will be willing to help him? I'm sure this Faber man will understand and have the decency to make himself scarce."

Saul rubbed his beard thoughtfully, "What about Carrie and Brody though?"

Haim smirked, then sneered coldly. "Nicholas must not become dependant on Carrie in any way. In an ideal world they should stay away from each other. She simply makes him feel high and numbs his pain, like drugs or alcohol. When I have cured Carrie of her Saviour Complex, then there will be no more Carrie Mathison and Nicholas Brody anyway. She will easily move onto somebody else when she no longer feels the need to save him!"

_Being near Carrie often makes me feel high_, Quinn puzzled to himself, _Is that so wrong?_

Haim continued more softly, "Before Nicholas was taken prisoner, he had a great marriage and a secure attachment style with his wife, Jessica, which would normally indicate a high resistance to PTSD."

Saul nodded and fiddled with his wedding ring.

"However, because of the _severity_ of what Nicholas endured... Can you imagine eight long years in captivity, the traumatic terror events afterwards and the subsequent breakdown of his marriage?" Haim's eyes flitted from Saul to Quinn. "This has all intensified the development and persistence of his symptoms."

Even though Quinn detested Brody on the whole, he still felt a small pang of sympathy. "Poor guy..."

"This new _relationship_ that Nicholas is in, with Carrie..." Haim air-quoted the word _relationship_ with a look of disgust on his face. "It bears all the hallmarks of a dangerously insecure attachment which is in fact prolonging and intensifying Nicholas's condition."

Saul looked concerned, "So what's your expert prognosis, Doctor Cohen?"

Haim was resolute, "The best thing that Nicholas can do is spend more time with his wife and avoid Carrie altogether."

"Will you tell Brody that?" Saul frowned and didn't look convinced. "Will you tell _Carrie_ that?"

Haim nodded without hesitation, "Of course I will!"

Saul removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, "What if they refuse?"

"Then they are fools and they will gradually and inadvertently worsen Brody's PTSD." Haim wagged his finger at Saul indignantly, for even suggesting that they might not take his expert advice on board.

"But what of _love_?!" Saul smiled and clasped his hands to his chest dramatically, as if he was playing the lead role in a Musical. "_The heart wants what it wants_!"

Quinn gulped as he heard the familiar phrase. He'd quoted it firstly to Rudy McCoy in Philadelphia, then directly to Carrie only a few days ago. The phrase had seemed to upset Carrie and prompted her to speak in riddles about_ Love is like War_.

"_Love_?!" Haim spat, "A bipolar Agent with Saviour Complex and a former POW with PTSD?! They may believe that they are in love. It will feel real to them at first, intense and intoxicating, but it is a noxious attachment. Typically, relationships like theirs degenerate into morbid jealousy, alcoholism, domestic abuse and usually end in the suicide or murder of one of the parties involved!"

"That sounds like a gross exaggeration!" Saul snorted, unconvinced. "Worse case scenario, maybe?"

Quinn glanced sideways at Iris who had just entered the room and sat next to him. Her dark eyes were wide at Haim's ghastly prediction and she was obviously considering her own ongoing secret relationship with Uri. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly, but didn't contradict the Psychologist.

"What if you're wrong?" Quinn spoke up for her reluctantly, "What if a Spy and a former POW can find true love together?"

Haim stared at Quinn coldly, "But what if I'm right? Is it worth the risk? Suicide? Murder? Is that what you want for Carrie... and Iris?"

"Of course not..." Quinn squeezed Iris's shaking hand under the table and held onto it to comfort her.

"Are you married Haim?" Saul scrutinised him doubtfully, "Or have you ever been?"

Haim shook his head, "No, never. Nobody has ever passed the stringent tests that I apply to potential candidates."

Quinn supressed a snort of laughter and subsequently had a coughing fit when his mouthful of water went down the wrong way.

Saul rubbed his beard as he grinned, "I'm married. My relationship with my wife is intense and intoxicating. She has left me on numerous occasions, but always comes back eventually. She can't live with me, but can't live without me either." He chuckled, "There's not a dating website on the planet that would have ever matched us pair! Our relationship causes us pain for about eighty percent of the time, but would I have it any other way? Of course not! I love her! I love my Mira! I worship her... "

"You think you love her, but..." Haim began expertly and condescendingly.

"Don't even _think_ about analysing me, or telling me to leave Mira!" Saul's growl rumbled as he bared his teeth. "Or you can pack your bags right now and fuck off back to your state-of-the-art facility in Israel!"


	30. Chapter 30: Mental Love

_Thanks__ so much for the reviews of Ch. 29. Can't believe this is chapter 30. How did that happen?_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 30**

A couple of days later, Peter Quinn had decided to take a break from watching Brody and the Psychologist on the monitor and wandered back to his own office to enjoy a strong coffee in peace. He'd roused Iris from her afternoon doze and she promised that she'd cover for him. Haim Cohen was almost finished with Brody now anyway. He appeared to be dragging it out and Quinn was getting bored. He checked his cell-phone to see if there were any messages or missed calls from Rudy McCoy. There was still nothing. He thumped his cell-phone down on the desk in frustration and hoped that McCoy's mission in Beirut wasn't quite as risky as he'd implied.

Quinn assumed that Saul might be sending Haim and Iris packing shortly, now that Brody's PTSD assessment was virtually complete. Haim and Saul weren't seeing eye to eye on several matters and Saul seemed keen to get rid of him now. Haim was obviously willing to conform to strict scientific algorithms in his lonely personal life, but no one else was going to entertain giving up their heart's desire for the sake of their own sanity. The idealistic and selfish part of Quinn wanted Brody neatly boxed up and sent back to Jessica immediately, with Carrie simply banned from ever seeing him again. In fact, perhaps Haim could insist that Carrie hook up with himself for her own well-being? Quinn smirked longingly at the thought, _Oh, if only Haim Cohen's expert opinions were Statutory Law!_

Quinn had seen enough of life to know that it was messy, relationships were always complex and the course of true love, if there was such a thing, never did run smoothly. He'd made a conscious effort to avoid thinking about relationships until he'd met Carrie. _Was Carrie his true love?_ He paused as another thought drifted into his consciousness. _What about McCoy?_ Although his feelings for Carrie were beyond anything he'd ever felt before, he allowed himself to admit that there were certain aspects of McCoy that he did love. McCoy was his best mate, he made him laugh and even turned him on, but it didn't compare to the passion and raw emotions that he felt for Carrie.

_Love? Was it love? Can you really love someone without being with them?_ Whatever the hell it was, Quinn wished that he felt differently, because it would be easier just to love McCoy. He wasn't so much worried about his lack of experience with men as he knew he could pick that up if he felt so inclined and McCoy would be an eager teacher. He thought about McCoy's cheeky twinkling eyes, possibly masking his hurting heart. Quinn wished that he could care for McCoy the way he probably deserved to be, but he just couldn't. _Could he?_ He wasn't sure if McCoy was just playing with him. Winding him up half the time. McCoy charmed everyone and had a network of fuck buddies. That was Quinn's assumption anyway and he didn't want to just be another name on that list. None of it really mattered to Quinn anyway because the bottom line was he was desperately craving Carrie. _Could he have some fun with McCoy anyway?_ No, that wouldn't be fair on either of them and might mess up any slim chance he'd ever have with Carrie.

_Damn Carrie!_ He couldn't have her... not yet anyway. Quinn made the usual vow to himself of waiting for Carrie and Brody's relationship to fizzle out. He prayed that it wouldn't end as tragically as Haim had predicted. _Typically relationships like theirs degenerate into morbid jealousy, alcoholism, domestic abuse and usually end in the suicide or murder of one of the parties involved._

_What if it doesn't fizzle out?_ A small scared voice from deep within Quinn's steely heart challenged him sternly. _What if Carrie and Brody belong together?_ He considered it for a moment. _Impossible._ The cognitive dissonance overwhelmed Quinn as he recalled Carrie handcuffing him to the bed at the Motel and driving him wild with her tongue on his scars. How could Carrie belong with Brody when she had almost made him explode in five seconds flat? Carrie was meant to be with him even if she didn't know it herself. He remembered the Voyeur from the Motel bathroom. _Had Brody seen them together? Was he going to say anything about it?_

Quinn attempted to analyse what it was about Carrie. It was definitely more than sexual chemistry. It was her entire being. Her soul, her mind, her intuition, her body, her hair, her presence, the way she pissed him off... everything about her fired him up. He was furious at himself and wished he could let this frenzied infatuation go. It wasn't like they'd even had a relationship. It had been a fumble. He put his thumping head in his hands as his mind began to whirl with the cumulative emotional pain.

_The brightest flames leave the deepest scars._

_Nothing can hurt as much as the love that can never be._

_No thought can hurt as much as the thought of a love that could have been._

Quinn covered his ears. Then his eyes. He'd been convinced that he'd left all this mental _love_ shit behind on the Penthouse balcony in Philadelphia.

_..._

"You OK?" It was Iris. Quinn hadn't heard her come into the office and she was now sitting next to him and looking seriously concerned.

Quinn stared at his hands that were somehow wet with tears. He had no idea how long he'd been sat feeling sorry for himself. Or how long Iris had been in his office. She passed him a tissue then wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Don't cry... it'll work out with Carrie, I'm sure..."

Quinn sniffed, embarrassed and stifled some more tears by swallowing them.

They were disturbed as Carrie suddenly burst noisily through the door and then hovered in the entrance. She put her hands on her hips. "Oh I'm sorry, I thought Peter was in here alone..." She eyed Iris irately who appeared to be nuzzling Quinn. "I thought you'd already gone, Iris, but you two _love-birds_ are obviously saying your goodbyes..."

"Carrie..." Quinn looked mortified and attempted to speak, but Iris jumped to her feet and interrupted. "I'm going now. Goodbye Quinn. I've loved working with you." She kissed him tenderly on the forehead. "Goodbye Carrie. I wish we could have spent more time together. Maybe got to know each other better..."

Carrie scowled at Iris as she skipped out of the office, before she turned back round to look at the state of Quinn.

"You're gutted she's leaving, huh?" Carrie raked her fingers through her blonde hair.

Quinn studied his computer screen as he tried to compose himself.

"Bet you're going to miss your pretty Israeli fuck-buddy?" Carrie snarled, not masking her disdain of Iris.

"What do you want, Carrie?" Quinn sighed despondently and gazed at her with red, moist eyes.

"Saul just told me that Brody's been released!" Her bewildered smile demonstrated that she couldn't believe what was coming out of her mouth. "You were right! The Psychologist was here to help him. He's not being deported to Guantanamo after all!"

"Great, that's fucking marvellous news. Made my day." Quinn rubbed his eyes and scowled as he rejoined reality. He wondered how much Carrie knew about Haim's insistence that Brody avoid any relationship with her, in order to recover from his PTSD. "Where is Brody now?"

"Apparently he's just popping round to see his kids and then he's going straight over to mine." Carrie seemed bemused and fidgeted. "We're finally going to live together!"

Quinn flinched at the unexpected black hole that he could feel forming and gaping within the pit of his stomach, "Has Saul mentioned any treatment for Brody's PTSD?"

Carrie nodded restlessly, "Yeah, he's putting him in touch with a Military counsellor."

"Guess nobody else is going to be getting assessed by Haim Cohen then?" Quinn frowned. "There was talk of him counselling and rehabilitating everyone for PTSD because of the bomb. Curing you of _Saviour Complex _too!"

"Saviour Complex, my ass." Carrie paced towards the window and looked out across the scene of desolation from where the bomb had gone off at the Memorial. "It's just all an occupational hazard, isn't it?" She was dismissive of needing counselling, "When you're a CIA Agent, you expect a little stress and trauma... we just have to deal with it in our own way."

"Two hundred dead colleagues is more than a little stress and trauma," Quinn joined her by the window and arched an eyebrow at her attitude.

"Saul wants to see you." Carrie ignored his remark. "Apparently Brody mentioned a new name this afternoon that needs checking out."

"What? Shit. I better go then." Quinn frowned and stretched his arms above his shoulders to loosen up. This was news to him. He'd obviously missed hearing the single most important thing to come out of Brody's mouth in days. He wished he'd stayed with Iris in the surveillance room and not sneaked back to his office for a moment of peace and some coffee, which had somehow ended up in the turmoil of his temporary emotional breakdown.

"Yeah, Saul's been looking everywhere for you," rebuked Carrie. "I'm going home now."

"To prepare for your new lodger?" Quinn's head started thumping again at the thought of Carrie and Brody living together.

Carrie gave a preoccupied smile and nodded. "Talking of lodgers... I hope you've been honest with McCoy about Iris? You can't keep messing him around. He needs to know where he stands."

Quinn scowled, "McCoy and I understand each other perfectly." His mind and thoughts began swirling again.

_Never make someone a priority when all you are to them is an option._

Carrie frowned, "He was worried sick about the operation in Beirut and I haven't heard from him, have you?"

"Nope." Quinn's head and heart was spinning and hurting painfully now and he didn't want to talk about McCoy.

_It's better to be with no one than to be with the wrong one. _

Carrie looked concerned, "Are you OK, Quinn? You look sick? Are you really that upset about Iris leaving?"

"Nope." His stomach started churning and he couldn't be bothered to explain about Iris and Uri either.

_A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on._

Carrie folded her arms. "You're just back to your usual asshole self then?"

"Yep." Quinn breathed rapidly and felt on the verge of falling to pieces and unable to explain anything to himself, let alone Carrie any more. _What the hell was this? Panic? Anxiety?_ The black hole in his stomach threatened to engulf his body from within.

_Meeting you was fate, becoming your friend was a choice, but falling in love with you was beyond my control_

Carrie glared at him, utterly confused by his sweating, glazed expression and one word snipes, "OK fine. Well I'm going now. I'm taking some leave for a few days. Brody and I are going to..."

_The fucking cabin?_

Quinn gritted his teeth at the thought of his worst nightmare and tried to speak slowly. "I better go and see Saul." He stormed erratically towards the door, bumping into a metal filing cabinet en-route. The lever-arch files on top of it clattered to the floor.

_Where my future leads, I don't know. But if you're not there, I don't want to go._

Carrie looked after him, bewildered. "Quinn... I'm really..."

"What?!" Quinn snapped angrily as he turned back to glare at her. His tormented heart couldn't take it any longer. "What now Carrie?"

_A heartbreak isn't as loud as a bomb exploding. Sometimes it can be as quiet as a feather falling and the most painful thing is no one really hears it, except you._

Carrie sighed, a flicker of fear and sorrow momentarily crossing her blue eyes. "Nothing..."

Quinn turned away from her and left the office without looking back. He clutched his chest as he headed towards Saul's office. _I give up. I'm not playing this game any longer._

_If there was a way to love you without getting hurt, I would choose that way, but I can't think of one, so it's better to stay away._


	31. Chapter 31: Me or the Moccasins

_Wow, thanks__ so much to CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104, Bluestarshine, Anon (welcome!), Lilmisfit5290 & Violet (welcome back!) for the reviews of Ch. 30. Honestly, your reviews keep me going. Thank you. _

___Ch. 31 is dedicated to the very special eagle-EYED viewer who spotted Quinn's fashion faux-pas in an episode... I love you & I hate you for pointing it out to me!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 31**

_As I lay here on the wet grass_

_ I watch the crystal-clear night sky _

_and play connect-the-dots with the stars. _

_Tracing images of a past that I must leave behind. _

_Memories unfold before me like a movie with you as the antagonist. _

_I watch as you played your games, you played me for a fool. _

_Like a knife pushed deep through my ribcage. _

_Fade to black. _

_Why did you make me an accessory? _

_Why was I pushed to the periphery? _

_Like a knife pushed deep through my ribcage. _

_You caused this heartbreak._

_The pieces cut deep, forever scarring me. _

_No amount of time will piece together my shattered glass heart. _

_No amount of time will fix this heart, it's broken. _

_I can't have you. _

_I don't need you. _

_I don't want you. _

_But I miss you..._

_..._

Quinn jumped up off his sofa and quickly turned off his iPod. He wondered who the hell had put a weird heavy metal track on there. _Those fucking lyrics taunting me too. _He guessed that he must have done it by accident last month, when him and McCoy had been messing about with iTunes and downloaded a few new tracks. _My Shattered Glass Heart _by _After School Knife Fight_ was not something he wanted to listen to again. _Was this some shit McCoy actually listened to?_ He couldn't remember and it seemed unlikely considering that McCoy was more into _One Direction_. Maybe it was an accidental download. Maybe it was just a mistake... like having his heart set on Carrie Mathison had been all along. _A great big fucking mistake._ Quinn had decided that distraction and avoidance of Carrie was the best tactic and it was working reasonably well, until something like an unexpected heavy metal track with sorrowful lyrics that pierced his fragile heart, sent him into a spiral of despair and self-pity all over again.

...

It had now been ten days since Brody had been released. Carrie was back at work and keeping busy. Quinn was avoiding her at all costs. It hurt too much to be near her, but he hoped that he might start to get over it once Rudy McCoy was back in town.

Quinn fantasised about them going out drinking together to drown his sorrows about Carrie. He'd even give karaoke a go. Perhaps beforehand, he'd let McCoy give him that fashion makeover, that he'd always threatened to do. McCoy's main style issue had always been with Quinn's eclectic taste in footwear. McCoy had been particularly disgusted with the grey suede moccasins that Quinn often wore and he had tried to sneak them out into the trash on several occasions. Quinn had always rummaged them out again and proudly waved them under McCoy's nose, often still covered in trash juice. McCoy had been so horrified and nauseous once, that he had thrown the grey moccasins across the room and they'd broken the new mug that he'd only just bought for Quinn after seeing the Bond film _Skyfall_. It was a white china one with a _Q10_ Scrabble symbol; with the _Q_ being for Quinn rather than Quartermaster. Quinn had been furious and reprimanded McCoy about shoe throwing, angrily lecturing him that it was the ultimate insult in many Arab cultures, particularly for Muslims who considered the shoes to be ritually unclean. _You should know that already with living out there for so long..._ a_nd you've broken my new fucking Scrabble mug, you asshole!_

McCoy had been defiant. _Well, those fucking squirrel-skin slippers are a bit more than ritually unclean! They stink! And don't think for a minute that I haven't seen the hideous fawn moccasins hidden under your bed either! _Quinn had retrieved one of the grey moccasins off the floor near the fragmented Q mug and playfully spanked McCoy's toned buttocks with it until he'd begged for mercy. It had then degenerated into McCoy throwing Quinn down onto the floor and pinning his wrists above his head, whilst he forced him to inhale the scented grey moccasins with their fragrant combination of _eau de squirrel-skin and trash juice_.

...

Quinn laughed and gagged simultaneously at the grim olfactory memory, before frowning. There was still no news or messages from Rudy McCoy in Beirut. Quinn contemplated calling Dar Adal, but he knew that these secret operations often took time. Saul didn't know anything. He simply said that _no news was good news._

Quinn looked down at his grey moccasins sadly and wondered if he'd be able to part with them if McCoy ever laid down the law and said that they really had to go. He went to bed early that night, so that he didn't have time to think about it too much.

In the middle of the night, Quinn woke up panting and realised that he was in a cold-sweat. He'd had a nightmare. "_It's either me or the moccasins!"_ was still ringing loudly in his ears.

…

Quinn wore his fawn moccasins to work the next day, just because he could. He sat with Galvez and continued to scan the databases to look for more information on the new name that Brody had mentioned to the Psychologist last week.

_Abdul el-Zaid_

Nothing of interest could be found. There were a few hits on similar names in Saudi Arabia, Syria and Lebanon, but nothing really worth pursuing.

…

"Any news yet on this Abdul el-Zaid?" Saul hovered over Quinn's desk hopefully, before frowning as he caught a glimpse of his unusual fawn footwear.

Quinn shook his head. "Nope. He seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth since Brody saw him doing a business deal with Abu Nazir in Iraq."

Saul turned to Galvez who had monopolised McCoy's desk since the day he'd departed. "Any luck with this idea of getting an alternate name for _el-Zaid_ yet? Brody said he was possibly European or American, right?"

Galvez glanced at the Psychologists notes. "Brody suspected el-Zaid was an American, but he spoke fluent Arabic and was certainly dressed in a long traditional _thawb_."

Saul sighed. "He could be anywhere in the world now."

"It says Brody only saw him once in Iraq doing a business with Abu Nazir" Galvez scrutinised the page again. "Brody also thinks he got a glance of him, or a close family member, the night Abu Nazir had him abducted by helicopter from right under our noses."

"Well keep on looking." Saul walked towards the door. "I don't like the idea of an American who recently colluded with Abu Nazir still being on the loose."

Galvez shook his head and shivered. "Neither do I."

Quinn stared in disbelief at the pair of them. _Was Saul trying to be fucking ironic? Hadn't he just released Brody?_

…

It was Quinn who finally admitted defeat when no useful information about Abdul el-Zaid was forthcoming electronically. He strode into Saul's office, "Should we bring Brody back in for questioning?"

Saul stroked his beard as he tried not to look at Quinn's fawn shoes, "Brody says he told Haim Cohen everything he knows about Abdul el-Zaid."

"What type of business deal did el-Zaid do with Abu Nazir in Iraq?" Quinn scratched his head, puzzled.

Saul shrugged. "No idea. Did Brody say?"

Quinn scanned Haim Cohen's notes again and shook his head, "Would Brody even know?"

"It's probably worth double checking. Let's bring him back in," Saul frowned. "Quinn, you can talk to Brody. Chew him up a bit and only spit him out once you're sure that you've got the whole story about Abdul el-Zaid. Haim Cohen has seriously let me down on this. I don't think he pushed Brody hard enough."

"It'll be my pleasure," Quinn smiled neutrally to hide the intensity of his rising emotions at the thought of interrogating Brody again. He put his hand in the pocket of his trousers and rubbed his knife eagerly in anticipation.


	32. Chapter 32: Ocular Deadlock

_Thanks__ for the reviews of Ch. 31. Special thanks to all writers who are keeping me crazily entertained with their fanfics. Lots of new stories & updates lately - it's fab!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 32**

Peter Quinn was relieved that Saul had agreed to Brody coming back to Langley to answer a few more questions about Abdul el-Zaid, the potentially American Al-Qaeda suspect that he had recently glimpsed. Brody had only mentioned him in passing to the Psychologist, on the last day of his _Post Traumatic Stress Disorder_ assessment and Quinn was embarrassed and furious with himself for missing it.

Quinn had excessive pent-up nervous energy since he had started deliberately avoiding Carrie, in an attempt to protect his brittle heart from hurting any more than necessary. It had worsened since she had cosied up domestically with Brody and they were seemingly now destined to live happily ever after. Quinn was secretly pleased that his inner ire and emotional fervency would shortly be channelled into something productive, like scaring the fucking truth out of Brody in an interrogation room.

The fact that Quinn's cheeky best friend, Rudy McCoy, was away on a dangerous secret operation in Lebanon, wasn't helping him maintain a state of inner calm either. Quinn checked his iPhone and grimaced when he saw that he still had no new messages. _Is McCoy still in the hornet's nest of neutralising a Hezbollah power struggle?_ Despite numerous attempts, McCoy was still unreachable by telephone or email. _Or is he deliberately ignoring all my messages and calls? _He checked the exact time and mentally added seven hours. _I'll call him again later...or maybe try Dar Adal..._

Quinn took a deep breath to calm himself as he approached the metal door of the Interrogation room. It was showtime.

_..._

Quinn strutted aloofly into the room where Brody was already perched on a wooden chair, with his arms wrapped tightly around himself, nervously. There were no shackles restraining him this time. His leg was shaking uncontrollably and his eyes narrowed fearfully at the sight of a perfectly cool and composed Quinn shutting the door behind him.

Quinn sat down opposite Brody and carefully placed his stationary on the table. He adjusted his pen and black notepad until happy with their relative positions and then casually unwrapped some chewing gum. He didn't offer Brody any and scrutinised him coldly, with his hands bunched in his pockets, as he chewed. He sat like this for about two minutes before smirking. "Well, here we are again, Brody. We must stop meeting like this!"

"What the fuck do _you_ want this time?" Brody's pale lips twitched, uncertainly. "Are you here to stab me in the other hand?"

"Both if I have to..." Quinn shrugged and chewed his gum purposefully. "Why are you so paranoid? I'm not here to interrogate you."

"Well, what the fuck do you want?" Brody's eyes darted around the room, anxiously. He clearly had no idea why he had been called back to Langley at such short notice.

Quinn leaned back, perfectly relaxed. He enlaced his fingers behind his neck as he rocked in his chair. "Tell me all about Abdul el-Zaid."

Brody rolled his eyes and sighed, as if slightly relieved. "I met Abdul el-Zaid for about two minutes with Abu Nazir in Iraq. I possibly saw him again, here in the US after I'd been abducted by helicopter to meet Nazir." He scowled, "I've already told Haim Cohen everything I knew. Go read his notes."

Quinn chewed as he continued unfazed, "What was Abdul el-Zaid doing with Nazir in Iraq?"

Brody frowned and scratched his ear. "Selling something to Nazir I think. I don't know what."

Quinn cocked his head. "Was he alone?"

Brody nodded, "I think so..."

"You think so?" Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Be more specific."

"Yes, I think he was alone," frowned Brody.

Quinn bit his lip to suppress his first flush of irritation. He'd almost forgotten how much Brody got on his nerves. He leant forwards a fraction. "You _think _he was alone, or he _was_ alone?"

"Abdul el-Zaid met Nazir alone," Brody swallowed. "He was driven to the house."

"Who drove him to the house?" Quinn stared expectantly and poised his pen.

"A young guy. Looked a bit like him." Brody shrugged. "Maybe a relative."

"Did you speak to him?" Quinn stared intently at Brody.

Brody was emphatic. "No!"

"Did he get out of the car?" Quinn rubbed his chin.

"Yes. I looked out of the window and I saw him talking to Issa. They kicked a ball around for ten minutes." A pained expression crossed Brody's face. "Issa loved playing football."

Quinn leant forwards. "Did Issa tell you anything about him?"

Brody shook his head, "I can't remember."

Quinn twirled his pen in his fingers. "Well... _try!_"

"I am trying... I don't know." Brody seemed to be delving into his memories, or was contemplating the question. "Nazir always had lots of visitors. I can't remember Issa saying anything in particular about either of those guys."

Quinn looked suspicious. "There must have been something special about Abdul el-Zaid for you to remember his name from Iraq and also recognise him in the US when you got off the helicopter?"

Brody shrugged, nonchalantly. "It's because he was an American."

"How did you know that he was an American?" Quinn put the pen down.

"His accent was like mine. The way he pronounced some of his Arabic." Brody eyes lit up like something had just clicked. "There's certain words that always retain a twang of Uncle Sam."

"Anything else?" Quinn pushed his gum forwards with his tongue, biting it between his teeth.

"He wore nasty blue polyester slacks underneath his thawb." Brody furrowed his brow as if trying to remember more details. "He acted like an American businessman. His mannerisms..."

"What about the driver?" Quinn asked, quickly. "What was he wearing?"

"Jeans. White T-shirt. He looked like a normal American twenty-something..." Brody touched his head. "Ummm... yeah, a baseball cap too."

"What was on his cap?" Quinn tapped his fingers on the table.

Brody shook his head. "I can't remember."

Quinn tapped louder "What colour was it?"

"Red." Brody screwed up his face, deep in thought. "Yes, definitely bright red."

"What was his name?" Quinn's questions were coming out like rapid fire now.

Brody looked annoyed. "How the fuck should I know?"

"You're sure you didn't ask Issa?" Quinn looked disbelieving.

Brody jutted his chin. "No."

"You are an _American_ being held hostage." Quinn snarled, exasperated. "Two _Americans_ turn up to visit Nazir and you don't pay them much attention?"

Brody's demeanour remained calm, but his eyes flashed with irritation. "No I didn't."

Quinn lowered his voice and spoke coldly, "Oh come on, Brody... I'm in no mood for your bullshit today."

Brody eyed Quinn nervously, seeing his hand slip smoothly into his trouser pocket. "Listen I went through all of this with the Psychologist..."

"Well, you can fucking go through it with me again." Quinn stood up slowly and leant dominantly over Brody. "Unless you want me to convince Saul that the world might be a safer place without you in it?"

"Quinn, you're just an evil bastard..." Brody hissed, his hackles rising.

"I'm an evil bastard?! Excuse me! I'm an evil bastard?" Quinn laughed soberly as he started to pace around Brody's chair. "Who committed himself to perform acts of terror for Al-Qaeda? Who shot Tom Walker? Who snapped the tailor's neck with his bare hands? Who killed the Vice President?" Quinn stopped behind Brody and leant menacingly close to his ear. "Who had Carrie sent for ECT because she was _right_ about you all along?"

Brody turned his head, suddenly amused rather than afraid. He assessed Quinn smugly. "This is all about Carrie isn't it?"

Quinn's head jerked backwards as he blinked. "It has nothing to do with Carrie."

"Oh, come on Quinn. You think I'm a fool?" Brody's eyes narrowed as he spoke slowly and calmly. "I've seen how you look at Carrie. You think nobody else has seen your eyes wandering all over her body? Even Dana commented on it!"

Quinn glared and chewed his lip, _Was it really that obvious?_

"You think we don't know why you stormed out of the Pancake House that morning on the way back from Lac Selby?" Brody snarled. "You couldn't handle the fact that you'd shared a Motel bedroom with Carrie and she wasn't remotely interested in you." Brody gloated superiorly, "She rejected you because she was too busy thinking about getting her tongue back on my balls!"

_What the fuck?_ Quinn inhaled, his own hackles rising. He wasn't prepared for any of this.

Brody noticed his reaction and smirked. "Do you know how good it is to live with Carrie?" He leant closer to Quinn. "To fuck her senseless every single night?"

Quinn didn't flinch apart from swallowing slightly and blinking to refocus. "What was the young American's name in Iraq?"

"I really have no fucking idea!" Brody shook his head and looked triumphant.

Quinn gritted his teeth and leant closer. His nose almost touching Brody's as they eye-balled each other. "What was the relationship between Abdul el-Zaid and the other man?"

For almost thirty seconds, Brody glared back into the hellfire of Quinn's eyes. It seemed to be ocular deadlock, but Brody was the first to blink and he moved away a fraction. "They just looked alike. Maybe his son? Yeah, possibly his son or nephew."

Quinn continued efficiently as if nothing had happened. _Like Carrie's name had never been mentioned._ "Did Nazir say anything after meeting el-Zaid in Iraq?"

Brody seemed slightly relieved to participate in the interrogation again, rather than have another optic battle with Quinn, like two irate peacocks tail-fanning over the same hen. "Nazir said something generic later... something like black and whites make the best martyrs for Allah in America, because everyone suspects an Arab."

"Bizarre and racist ideology," Quinn stared at him, puzzled. "Why did Nazir say that?"

Brody shrugged and placed his hands flat on the table. He stared at them. "Maybe he was talking about me and Tom Walker."

"Was he was talking about Abdul el-Zaid? What was his ethnicity?"

"White, possibly slightly Latino... Certainly not an Arab, anyway," sighed Brody.

Quinn kept digging, "What else do you know about el-Zaid?"

Brody turned his palms over. "I've told you all I know."

"Think harder," snapped Quinn.

Brody gulped, "Nazir sent his regards to Nadia."

Quinn scribbled the name into his notepad, "Who did he say that to?"

"To Abdul el-Zaid as he was leaving."

"Nadia?" Quinn wondered aloud as he stared at his own spidery handwriting, enviously wishing that he could do calligraphic swirls like Rudy McCoy. "Why did that name stick in your mind?"

Brody looked abashed and spoke in a small, hoarse voice. "It was the sound of the word. It might seem stupid to you, but it was hearing the sound of a woman's name ending in _'a'. _It made me think of Jessic-a and Dan-a." Brody's eyes misted. "It made me cry that night because it reminded me of how much I missed my wife and daughter."

Quinn assessed Brody, dispassionately. "Anything else?"

Brody gradually composed himself and looked embarrassed for becoming mildly emotional in front of Quinn. He bit his lip, then a smirk spread across his face, counteracting his prior sentimental lapse. "It's good you know..."

Quinn was puzzled, "What's good?"

Brody looked pleased with himself as he crowed. "To fuck Carrie every night."

Quinn's body froze, then he felt his cheeks begin to flush as his heart rate increased. "This discussion is concluded for now." His eyes darkened as he breathed rapidly. "Saul will be in touch if we need you back." Quinn left Brody tail-fanning arrogantly and he stomped out of the room to find a wall to punch. A random thought flitted through his mind that Rudy McCoy would be really proud of him for not losing his temper completely.


	33. Chapter 33: Honorary Member

_Thanks__ so much for the kind reviews & pm's regarding Ch 32. I've always found it tricky to write Brody, so glad it was OK! _

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 33**

"There's a visitor in Reception for you, Sir," Danny Galvez lingered in the doorway of the office that he had recently decided he shared with Peter Quinn.

"Who is it?" barked Quinn, looking up from his iPhone. He was in a foul mood, because there were still no messages from Rudy McCoy. Dar Adal had been evasive when they had spoken almost two weeks ago. He'd said that he had no news and the secret operation in Lebanon was still ongoing and reaching a critical point. Quinn should keep his nose out of it and focus on working for Saul and the CIA.

Quinn was also feeling generally annoyed with Galvez for the way he traipsed around CIA Headquarters lately, always sniffing at his heel. He was like a puppy looking for a new master, since he'd returned to work and there was no longer David Estes to micro-manage him. Saul was pretty much leaving Galvez to his own devices, with the intention of easing him back into work gently, after his long stay in hospital after the Memorial bombing. Quinn was sick to death of sharing an office with Galvez already. It was so bad that he'd even decided that he'd rather share an office with Max.

"It's Mike Faber, Sir," Galvez looked embarrassed that he didn't have a more important visitor to announce to Quinn. "He wouldn't tell me what it was regarding."

Quinn rolled his eyes. "OK, tell him I'll be down in twenty or thirty minutes. Maybe an hour." He had no qualms about keeping an honorary member of the Brody family waiting. Quinn was still plotting revenge on Brody himself, for humiliating him in the interrogation room two weeks ago. He felt like his nose had been well and truly rubbed into some unwanted and unwelcome information, about just how much sex that Brody was having with Carrie.

…

An hour and a half later, Quinn wandered leisurely down the stairs, checking his iPhone for any messages from Rudy on the way.

"Faber," Quinn gritted his teeth, before forcing a smile. "What insights do you have for the CIA today?"

"Agent Quinn," Mike Faber looked serious as he shook Quinn's hand earnestly. "No new leads on Tom Walker's murder I'm afraid, but I'll keep on looking."

"Well, I hope you haven't forgotten Agent Mathison's wise words about that line of enquiry?" Quinn arched an eyebrow. "Didn't she warn you some time ago to cease and fucking desist?"

"Actually, I'm not here about that," Mike pursed his lips petulantly, before squaring his shoulders. "I'm here regarding a more personal matter."

"Personal?" Quinn rolled his eyes in disinterested annoyance. "How might I be of assistance in your personal life?"

Mike leaned in, confidentially, "Dana Brody has told me something rather disturbing."

"Dana?" Quinn rolled his eyes even further to the ceiling. "I hope this is important."

"Um... Yes, it involves you and Carrie Mathison," Mike nodded gravely.

"Me and Agent Mathison?" A flicker of interest registered on Quinn's face. Possibly the first time that he'd ever been interested in anything that Mike Faber had to say. "Go on..."

"Dana confided in me that she believes Carrie is being unfaithful to Brody." Mike looked nervous, "And that you are the party involved."

Quinn stared at Mike. He fought hard against the urge to say _I wish_. He smirked instead. "And what evidence does Dana have for her bullshit theory?"

Mike cleared his throat, nervously. "She... um, she..." He blushed and looked at the floor.

"Go on," Quinn tapped his fingers impatiently.

Mike blurted it out, when he found the words, "Dana said that she saw you and Carrie together on the journey back from Lac Selby."

Quinn rubbed his brows, exasperated, "Yes, Carrie and I did travel together for the first part of the journey home."

Mike shook his head, "I believe it was in the Budget Inn."

"Yes, we did check into that Motel," Quinn shrugged, "So what?"

Mike inhaled slowly, like he was bracing himself to convey some earth shattering news. He blushed even redder, before whispering, "Dana said that she saw you in a compromising position with Carrie. In your Motel bedroom."

Quinn barely suppressed his sigh of relief as he realised that Dana must have been the real voyeur from the Jack and Jill bathroom at the Motel. _That feels like a lifetime ago now._

Quinn decided to try and see Mike Faber squirm some more. He maintained an innocent frown. "Compromising position? Can you elaborate?"

Mike gulped, clearly mortified that he was going to have to try and explain more graphically. "She said that you were handcuffed to the bed and Carrie was..."

Quinn raised his chin, assertively. "Carrie was what?"

Mike rushed the words out quickly. "Dana's precise words were... Carrie was naked and sat astride Peter Quinn."

Quinn felt a stirring in his pants. He tried not to laugh as he realised that he was seriously getting off on Mike Faber's dirty talk. _I must be the first_, he smirked to himself.

Quinn really wanted to ask Mike to continue with more detail from the perspective of a voyeur who saw Carrie and himself about to make out. He particularly wanted to ask, _Did Dana see Carrie licking my scar?_ _Describe the licking, exactly!_ He resisted and faked an angry glare. "Well, Dana is mistaken and has a dangerous and overactive imagination if she is spreading lies like that around."

Mike looked apologetic. "Oh no, she's not spreading any rumours. She hasn't told Brody or Jessica. Only me."

"Well, I think that you should warn Dana to keep her crazy hallucinations to herself. Untrue tales like that could be very upsetting for both Brody and Carrie, don't you think?" Quinn arched an eyebrow, inquisitively. "I'm guessing that it must be difficult enough for them already?" It was an indicator for Mike Faber to share any snippets of the state of Carrie and Brody's relationship.

"Yes, it does appear that way." Mike predictably obliged, before frowning. "Brody has been spending a lot of time over at the family house since Carrie went back to work. Mainly with the kids, but with Jessica too."

Quinn liked the sound of this, "Go on!" he ordered, impatiently.

"Well, there's not much else to say. I get the impression that Brody is struggling to adapt to being back here again, even after his psychoanalysis with Dr Cohen. He seems very bored and lonely. He's having some counselling sessions for his PTSD, but not doing much else." Mike looked worried. "I also think Carrie works much longer hours than what Brody probably expected. It's not just a job for you CIA Agents, is it? It takes over your whole lives. From what Dana says, I think Brody finds Carrie overly distracted with her work about ninety nine percent of the time."

Quinn nodded. "That sounds like Agent Mathison. A fine and dedicated Intelligence Officer." He smiled, "Well, we all live and breathe it and we're not even overly busy at the moment. So if Carrie is spending a lot of time at work now, imagine what it'll be like for Brody when it all kicks off with full-on counter-terrorism operations and Carrie is _never_ at home to babysit him?"

Mike shook his head, seriously. "It doesn't bode well for Brody and Carrie."

"No," Quinn couldn't suppress his broad grin. "It doesn't bode well at all."


	34. Chapter 34: Wake-up Call

_Thanks__ for the lovely reviews for Ch 33! So, here we go..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 34**

Peter Quinn sat up in bed. It was six o' clock in the morning and his cell-phone was ringing. His heart leapt when he saw that it was a call from Rudy McCoy. He answered it without hesitation.

"Hey buddy!" His voice was full of relief as he joyously greeted McCoy.

The line crackled slightly. "Ahem. Is that... um... Can I speak to someone by the name of _Frosty_ please?"

Quinn frowned. He recognised the voice, but it wasn't Rudy McCoy's. "Um... _Frosty_?"

"Can I speak to Frosty Pants, please?" The familiar male voice sounded impatient.

"Can I ask who's calling, please?" asked Quinn, cautiously.

"I need to speak to the person who has called Rudy McCoy's cell-phone forty three times over the last two weeks," demanded the voice.

Quinn closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, "Ummm... that might be me."

"The missed calls are from a contact on his cell-phone called _Frosty Pants_." The voice sounded irritated and confused. "His girlfriend perhaps?"

"Mmmm... actually that might be the nickname Rudy gave me..." Quinn squirmed further, "Who's calling, please?"

The deep voice didn't sound pleased. "I'm a colleague of Rudy McCoy's. His boss actually..."

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck... It was only fucking Dar Adal._

Quinn cleared his throat, "I am Frosty Pants."

"Can I have your real name, please?" growled the voice, that Quinn now knew belonged to his austere and deadpan boss.

Quinn inhaled sharply, before swallowing. He didn't dare answer.

Dar Adal sounded annoyed, "Peter Quinn? It's you isn't it? I thought it was you! I'd recognise that intake of breath anywhere and I thought this number looked familiar."

Quinn wished that he could crawl under his bed and never come out. "Yes, it's me, Sir."

Dar Adal gave a rare deep laugh. "_Frosty Pants_, eh?"

Quinn tried to salvage some dignity with a little creativity. "Yes, ummm... _Frosty_ as in... I keep my cool under fire..."

Dar Adal snorted disbelievingly, "And the _Pants_ part?"

"Sir, where's Rudy McCoy?" Quinn cut to the chase. "Why are you calling me from his cell-phone at six o' clock in the morning?"

"I'm in Lebanon. It's the afternoon here..." Dar Adal hesitated before confiding. "Rudy McCoy is missing. He was leading an elite team consisting of six men over the Syrian border five days ago. They suffered heavy losses in a fierce gun battle inside what turned out to be an ammunitions warehouse. There was also a huge explosion and fire in there afterwards. We recovered twenty three bodies altogether. Nineteen of those were Hezbollah guerrillas. The other four were our guys. All badly burned."

Quinn's heart was contorting painfully. The only words that he'd heard properly were _Rudy McCoy is missing._

Dar Adal continued, soberly."We thought we had five US bodies, but luckily, if I can say that, the fifth soldier was just badly wounded. He's in a coma with fourth degree burns and is going to need some major skin grafts. His underlying muscle, tendon and ligaments are...

"I know what fourth degree burns are, Sir." Quinn snapped impatiently, "Where's McCoy?!"

Dar Adal sounded cross. "Like I said, Rudy McCoy is the only solider of ours who is still unaccounted for."

Quinn lay back down on his bed, before he fell down. "Where do you think he is?"

"We suspect that McCoy's either been completely char-grilled, or they've taken his body as a trophy," Dar Adal puffed angrily.

_Neither of those possibilities are good_. Quinn wasn't really sure which was the worst. "Could McCoy have been taken alive?" He supressed a retch and closed his eyes. "What are you doing to find him?"

"We've done all we can in the vicinity. We're waiting for Hezbollah to show their hand. We think at least two of their men escaped. If they've got McCoy's body then I'm sure it will be all over YouTube soon enough."

"Can I come out there?" strained Quinn, choking back the first few tears. "I'll help find his body."

"No." Dar Adal was cold and emphatic. "Saul needs you. He's told me about this new lead. Finding Abdul el-Zaid, if he's still in the US, is much more important."

Quinn clenched his fists. "Nothing is more important than finding Rudy McCoy..."

Dar Adal sounded irritated, "What did you say?"

"I hope there's some news soon on Rudy McCoy," sighed Quinn, his mind racing helplessly.

"I don't. I hope he's toast, or this secret operation will become public which will be a PR disaster for both the American and Lebanese Governments." Dar Adal sounded furious, "Thanks to McCoy and those other useless idiots, my career is as good as over."

"Useless idiots..?" Quinn couldn't believe his ears and refused to control his temper any longer. "You selfish old bastard, they're elite..." There was some crackling and the line cut off.

Quinn tried to call back, but the line was dead. He grabbed his purple _Talk Nerd to Me_ t-shirt that had been a gift from Rudy McCoy and curled up into a ball. He sobbed harder than he ever had before.

_Rudy McCoy was probably dead and Dar Adal didn't want to find his body._


	35. Chapter 35: Random Nadiyah

_Thanks for the reviews of Ch. 34! The out-pouring of grief for Rudy is very touching. So here's the next installment..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 35**

Within six hours, Peter Quinn was at a Military Airbase and waiting for a plane to take him to Lebanon. Earlier, he'd successfully convinced Danny Galvez and Saul that a certain _Mrs Nadiyah el-Zaid_ that he'd furiously researched that morning, warranted some closer scrutiny and investigation.

Remembering what Brody had said about Abu Nazir sending his regards to a _Nadia_ via Abdul el-Zaid, Quinn had deliberately chosen a random woman with a similar name. She resided near Rachaiya in Lebanon which was reasonably close to to the Syrian border. It was certainly not a coincidence that it meant Quinn needed to take a flight and go to the exact region where Rudy McCoy had gone missing.

Additionally and fortuitously for Quinn, Nadiyah's deceased husband had been called Abdul and give or take a few loose interpretations, he was actually a reasonably suspicious character who had appeared on their original _Abdul el-Zaid_ list, until Galvez had found out that he was dead. The bottom line was that none of the el-Zaid's they'd scrutinised really needed a personal visit just yet, until more evidence was gathered, but Quinn had exaggerated the urgency and the need to move fast.

…

**Four hours earlier**

Saul hadn't looked convinced at all. "Why do _you_ need to go? Tell me this has nothing to do with some hare-brained scheme to secretly look for Rudy McCoy's body?" he growled, threateningly. "I've just heard from Dar Adal. He told me that you called him a selfish old bastard, Quinn... or should I be calling you _Frosty Pants_...?"

Quinn gave Saul a piercing steely glare and showed him the evidence that he'd cobbled together to justify his trip. Most of it was genuine. He'd only faked about forty percent of it.

"I'm going to see Nadiyah el-Zaid, she's the widow of Abdul el-Zaid who died several months ago. There's evidence that Abdul travelled internationally and regularly to the United States with his son. He was a very wealthy businessman. Made his money buying and selling stocks and shares apparently, but that's not confirmed." Quinn remained composed. As far as he knew, it was all true so far; now for a little white lie or two. "There's some evidence of money laundering. He might have been funding something... like Al-Qaeda."

Saul stroked his beard and assessed Quinn uncertainly as he read through the rest of the detailed notes. There were a few anomalies, but it did look like it was worth a closer look. "I'm going to let you go out there on one condition..."

Quinn cocked his head and waited.

"You look for Rudy McCoy first... for forty eight hours maximum, then go check out Abdul el-Zaid's widow, Nadiyah and her son." Saul took his glasses off and cleaned the lenses with his shirt sleeve.

Quinn sighed with relief and nodded.

Saul put his glasses back on and smiled. "You were right. Dar Adal is a selfish old bastard..." He patted Quinn on the shoulder.

Quinn shrugged, "Not necessarily. I lost my temper. I was upset..."

"I'm upset too. I've lost enough Agents over the last few months and I'm praying I haven't lost Rudy, my most charismatic one," Saul grimaced. "It's not looking good though. From what I can see, Dar Adal's intel was flawed and incomplete... he was an impatient idiot and sent those men to their deaths on that secret mission over the border into Syria."

Quinn swallowed. He was trying not to think about it.

Saul handed Quinn a pile of papers. "Keep this safe. It's a list of agents, handlers and local assets in both Lebanon and Syria, in the region from Rachaiya to Damascus. They might be able to help you find information about Rudy, particularly if Hezbollah have got his body."

Quinn clutched the papers tightly, "Thanks."

"You can ask the appropriate Lebanese contacts about their knowledge of Nadiyah and Abdul el-Zaid too. If Abdul was a wealthy big shot who dealt directly with someone like Abu Nazir, then he might have had a reputation out there." Saul passed Quinn a map. "It's sometimes more fruitful to meet assets face to face, than speak by telephone."

Quinn nodded, "I hope so."

"If Dar Adal finds out what you're up to, it's nothing to do with me. I'll tell him you went rogue to look for Rudy's body and he's to fire your deceitful ass immediately." Saul wagged his finger.

Quinn strained a thin half-smile.

Saul gave him a fatherly hug, " Just do your best over there, Frosty Pants... and be careful."

…

As the flight progressed over the North Atlantic Ocean, Quinn began to feel nervous and guilty for deceiving Saul and Galvez. He knew that he was on his way to Lebanon for one reason only and that was to find out what had happened to Rudy McCoy.

He started to worry about whether he was diverting resources away from the hunt for the real Abdul el-Zaid who could be in the US and at worst plotting acts of terror. He knew that Saul had assigned an eager Galvez to do further research on Nadiyah el-Zaid before Quinn would track her down near Rachaiya in the next couple of days. He read through his notes again. Perhaps she was just an ordinary Lebanese woman, a grieving widow with a fatherless son that he was going to have to meet and ask pressing and disturbing questions about her deceased husband. Quinn felt slightly nauseous at the thought. He eased his conscience by re-reading his notes about her late husband, Abdul el-Zaid.

_Perhaps her late husband Abdul, was the man that Brody had seen meeting Abu Nazir in Iraq?_

_Perhaps Nadiyah el-Zaid was the Nadia that Abu Nazir had sent his best wishes to? _

_Perhaps Nadiyah's son was the young man that had played football with Issa as Brody watched?_

Quinn knew that some things didn't add up though. If Abdul had been dead for months, then Brody couldn't have seen him, when he'd been abducted by helicopter and taken to see Nazir in the US. Brody had said Abdul was an American, seemingly pretending to be middle-eastern, but all the evidence Quinn had found that morning showed Nadiyah and Abdul to be Lebanese.

_Maybe Galvez will call me later with more details about them? _

_Maybe they'll turn out to be Americans?_

_Maybe they will be dodgy characters after all and I'll have got lucky!_

...

Quinn's mind refused to be distracted by work any longer and started to taunt him with the only _maybes_ that really mattered.

_Maybe Rudy McCoy was burned alive? _

_Maybe Rudy McCoy's body is being shown off to gloating Hezbollah Commanders?_

_Maybe Rudy McCoy is dead and the last thing I said to him was "Shut up. This conversation is over" and "If you don't like it then... stay the fuck away from me" and "Yeah. Whatever... Bye!"_

_And the last thing McCoy said to me was "I'll be touch... sometime soon, I hope..."_

Quinn gritted his teeth and swallowed his tears as he remembered the drunken text message that he'd sent to McCoy after their argument.

_I'll giv it's a go if u show me what todo xxx_

He now knew that McCoy had probably never received that message, although Dar Adal had probably read it, as he seemed to have commandeered McCoy's cell-phone from somewhere.

Quinn closed his eyes as he imagined McCoy scared and knowing that he was shortly going on an ill-fated, secret mission into Syria. _McCoy was absolutely terrified and I sent him on his merry way with a... "stay the fuck away from me."_

He reached for a tissue and blew his nose, "I'm coming to find you, buddy."


	36. Chapter 36: Steep Incline

_Thanks so much for the reviews of Ch. 35! :-)_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 36**

Peter Quinn checked his watch. Out of the forty eight hours that Saul had granted him to look for Rudy McCoy, he only had sixteen hours and twenty three minutes left. He was determined to stick to the time frame that Saul had stipulated and felt that it was the least he could do, given the dubious evidence that he'd presented to convince Saul that his trip should be authorised.

Quinn hadn't slept since he'd landed in Lebanon and he had already met with three useless assets. Then two local Lebanese agents, with direct orders from Saul, had assisted him in getting across the border into Syria. Quinn and his two new Lebanese sidekicks had just met with another asset, a Syrian hotelier from Qatana, who had been extremely helpful in advising who they should try and meet next.

...

As their grimy white SUV bounced and veered along the winding, dusty track up a steep incline, Quinn closed his eyes and tried to ignore his fatigue and ever-increasing motion sickness. He hoped that the lead they'd just been given by the hotelier would prove useful in discovering the fate of Rudy McCoy. Images of his friend filled his mind. Random flashbacks of the times they'd spent together.

_My long drive up to Lac Selby with McCoy loudly singing Taylor Swift and One Direction songs all the way. _

_Creeping through the woods together towards the cabin where Brody was holed up. _

_Waking up in the Penthouse of the Ritz-Carlton in Philadelphia to find that McCoy had appeared during the night and restrained me on the four-poster bed with pink, fluffy handcuffs._

_McCoy's amazing pencil drawings; his fondness for karaoke; his love of geek-chic and hatred of moccasins; his head massaging skills... oh his fucking amazing head massaging skills that almost lead to something more, if fucking retarded Max hadn't disturbed us in the office..._

_McCoy on Skype and licking that damn orange ice popsicle... and making me so fucking hard that I hated him for it. __McCoy begging me to strip for him... and calling me Frosty Pants... and my response "... stay the fuck away from me."_

Quinn sighed sadly. _The text message I sent him that he never got; I'll giv it's a go if u show me what todo xxx_

_..._

Quinn swallowed the build-up of tears and muttered to himself under his breath, "McCoy, I swear..."

"Pardon, Sir?" The Lebanese Agent on the back seat leant towards Quinn. "Did you say something?"

"Sorry, no, nothing..." Quinn took his sunglasses off and discreetly wiped his stinging eyes. "It's this fucking dust."

The Agent shrugged and went back to examining the map he was holding. He barked some instructions in Arabic to the driver.

Quinn turned and looked out of the rear window. The Syrian vista behind and below was desolate and beautiful. Green patches interspersed the dusty, rocky plains. A vague thought about Carrie drifted through his mind. He hadn't said goodbye, or had any communication with her since he'd departed for Lebanon and Syria. She hadn't texted him or anything. _Too busy with Brody I expect. _Quinn tried to decide whether he gave a shit or not anymore. He still felt like it irked him somewhat, but not as painfully and certainly not as all-encompassing. _Perhaps I'm getting over her? _He smiled to himself, but wasn't convinced. _Perhaps all this hunt-for-McCoy stuff is just a distraction? Maybe I've just swapped one obsession for another? I really need to go and see Juila and John when I get home... it's been too long..._

_What if McCoy is dead, though? _

_What if I can't find him?_

_What if nobody ever finds him?_

_Fifteen hours, that's all I've got left before I need to abandon finding McCoy and go to see Nadiyah el-Zaid and ask if her late husband Abdul ever did business with Abu Nazir._

_I can't abandon you, buddy. Fuck Dar Adal and Saul and the job. I'm not stopping 'til I've found you in some shape or form._

Quinn screwed his eyes tightly closed and tried to doze whilst he still had the chance. It was also the best way to keep his rising nausea at bay from the roller-coaster ride of a SUV journey up into the Syrian hills.

_This is not the time to be making life-changing decisions..._

**...**

A ringing cell-phone disturbed Quinn and he jolted awake when he realised that it was his own ringtone. It was a blustering Danny Galvez on the line. "Sir? Any news on the hunt for Rudy McCoy's body?"

"I'm not looking for his body." Quinn rubbed his eyes and took a mouthful of tepid water from his bottle. "I'm going to visit a local Doctor. About an hour or so ago, I met an asset who said if McCoy was injured rather than killed, then this weird, secretive Doctor might know something about it. He's a bit of a mysterious loner, a weasly humanitarian character." Quinn perked up, pleased to remind himself that he did actually have a lead that might prove useful. "He's a money grabber apparently, who keeps his mouth shut and will treat anyone for the right price. Locals, foreigners, spies... Even terrorists... or their hostages."

"It's not Doctor Syed Bacho is it?" asked Galvez, excitedly.

Quinn bit his lip, annoyed that even though Galvez was almost six thousand miles away, he appeared to be one step ahead of him. "Ummm... Yes it is."

"Apparently our local agents have been watching Doctor Bacho for numerous reasons for quite some time." Galvez sounded proud that they were all working together as a team, despite the distance.

"What?!" Quinn couldn't believe his luck, "Well, that might be useful."

"The rumour from local sources is that Doctor Syed Bacho is desperate to escape from Syria with his wife, Hana and their young family. He has enough money, but is too scared to leave and unable to get a safe passage out because a local jihadist group has started watching him closely. He has acquired too much valuable information about them over the years." Galvez lowered his voice. "We believe that Doctor Bacho may even know where several western hostages are being held. The terrorists are afraid that if he leaves Syria then he might sell or share his secrets and we believe he would too."

"Can the CIA offer Bacho a safe passage out in return for all he knows?" Quinn's mind was racing.

"We don't know yet. Possibly. Anyway, first things first. You said you're going to see this Doctor Bacho about Rudy McCoy?" Galvez sounded nervous. "Dar Adal hasn't gone looking in his direction, but he's not looking for McCoy alive anyway."

"I'll look for Rudy's body once I have proof that he's dead, but in the meantime I'm looking for him alive and kicking." Quinn was resolute.

"Sir, it's almost a week since Rudy McCoy went missing." Galvez tried to curb Quinn's enthusiasm, "Saul told me that McCoy was shot by Hezbollah guerrillas and probably burned in the fire at the ammunition warehouse."

"Does Saul have any physical evidence to support his theory?" snapped Quinn.

Galvez sighed, "Only what Dar Adal has told him..."

"Exactly." Quinn frowned, "I've got to go Galvez, I think we're here."

...

Quinn and the two Lebanese Agents headed towards the Doctor's rustic house with it's makeshift surgery attached. The Doctor's tiny and timid wife, Hana Bacho answered the door, two little girls in hijabs clutched at her long, flowing green and beige abaya. She said that her husband Syed was not there.

The Lebanese Agents spoke kindly to her, explaining that they knew of her husband's desire to leave Syria and hinting that they could help. Hana was extremely scared and refused to talk at all for the first thirty minutes, but after some explicit threats and lottery-like promises, she admitted that her husband, Syed had been dragged out of their house in the middle of the night, a week ago by a gang of rough-looking men.

"Syed was shaking when he returned. He confided that he'd been asked to treat a westerner in quite bad shape." Hana glanced up at Quinn nervously. "Syed told me that some bad men found this westerner by a roadside outside Qatana and they weren't sure what to do with him, but they wanted to keep him alive. He might be worth something to somebody."

_He's worth something to me, _thought Quinn angrily, before he spoke to Hana in Arabic. "Has Syed seen him since?"

"Possibly." Hana's eyes darted nervously around the room. "The same gang collected Syed in their rusty truck last night and he took his medical bag. He was out for a few hours."

Quinn's heart was racing. _It's got to be McCoy. It must be! He's injured, but he's alive somewhere!_

Hana spoke softly, "Syed is not a bad man. He's a good Doctor and he cares for everybody. He doesn't like some of the bad people he has to deal with sometimes, but he gets forced... threatened." Her eyes brimmed with tears and she embraced her children tightly. "He's so afraid for our little girls... I am too. Please help us..."

Quinn nodded, "He's got to help me first."


	37. Chapter 37: Very Nice Muscles

_Thanks so much for the reviews! It's time to meet the Doctor... ;-)_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 37**

Peter Quinn stood next to the small window, squinting down the road that lead to the vast rocky valley below. He towered over Hana Bacho who was stood next to him and busy chewing her fingernails, as her daughters clutched her flowing abaya. Both Hana and Quinn could see a flickering form of red and black in the distance. The colourful fleck was starkly contrasted against the beige and green Syrian landscape behind and was moving in their direction, up the narrow road.

Hana seemed nervous as she tapped the glass and pointed, "It's my husband, Syed. He's running home."

Doctor Syed Bacho was clearly super-fit with a good pace as within minutes he was approaching the house. Quinn could see grey, particulate dust clouds emanating from the gravelly track beneath his once white trainers. His black shorts and red Lycra T-shirt were matt with dust and streaks of sweat.

Upon arrival outside his house, Syed put his hands on his hips and bent forwards, panting for a minute. As he resumed his stance, and stretched his muscular arms upwards, Quinn thought that he was probably the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. Syed was a lithe man, likely in his early forties. He took a swig of water from his clear plastic bottle and poured the remnants over his cropped dark hair. He swooshed the droplets off with his palm and strode confidently towards his front door. He seemed unperturbed by the unfamiliar SUV parked outside. Syed was obviously used to receiving unexpected and unknown visitors.

...

Syed's two little girls skipped towards the door, shouting excitedly for their _Daddy_ in Arabic. They chattered and giggled with him as they returned to the lounge. Syed unselfconsciously stripped off his tight red T-Shirt and used it briefly to towel the sweat off his toned bare torso.

Quinn and the two Lebanese CIA agents allowed Syed to drink some more water before they dived into explaining, in Arabic, exactly who they were and why they were here to question him. Syed remained calm throughout and only frowned slightly at Hana when he had to reluctantly disclose that twice this week he'd been dragged to treat an American hostage who was being held by a local gang called the _Children of Jihad_.

Syed described how the leader of the gang had told him that they'd found the badly injured American soldier by the side of the road, near a burned-out ammunitions factory, rumoured to belong to Hezbollah guerillas. The _Children of Jihad_ had stolen some guns that they'd discovered in a undamaged crate nearby, then thrown the American into the back of their truck. They weren't exactly sure what to do with him at the time, because they weren't into kidnapping any more. They held onto him because they considered their new hostage to be extremely valuable. They'd now decided to get rid of the American by selling him on to to another terrorist group, as quickly as possible. Syed explained that the _Children of Jihad_ used to be part of a larger organisation that occasionally dabbled in crimes like kidnapping foreigners. However, they suffered heavy losses when some Israeli and European hostages were dramatically rescued a few years ago. Then a subsequent drone strike obliterated many of their compounds and families afterwards. The terrorist's numbers had been decimated and they generally avoided kidnapping foreign nationals now, because it was too time-consuming and too risky. There was always the fear that the drones would reappear in retaliation and they didn't want to risk that again. With their limited resources, they now focused on detonating car bombs near orthodox churches in the surrounding towns instead. The only kidnappings that they did infrequently nowadays, was the occasional local Christian Dentist or Clergyman.

...

"The American hostage?" Quinn reminded Syed exactly why they were questioning him. "Is he badly hurt?"

Syed nodded gravely and reached forwards to tap Quinn's left hip, "He was shot right here." He moved his hand upwards, lightly brushing Quinn's stomach, then his jaw, with his palm that was still perspiring slightly. "The hostage has injuries here... and here too... from the many beatings."

Quinn recoiled from Syed's unexpected touch, as much as his sickening words, "Beatings?"

Syed lowered his brown eyes to the floor and chewed his lip, seemingly in revulsion of what he may have witnessed. "I've told them to stop, or they will kill him."

Quinn narrowed his eyes at Syed suspiciously, "Why would the_ Children of Jihad_ bother to seek out and pay a Doctor to treat a hostage, then continue to beat him?"

Syed shrugged. "They asked me to treat his pelvic gun-shot wound. I patched him up and stopped the bleeding and infection spreading. They really want to keep him alive." Syed rubbed his smooth angular jaw, "They want the American alive, but use the beatings so he remains in pain and in fear."

Quinn felt a jolt within his gut, like the central electrode of a plasma orb igniting. The lightening adrenaline tendrils permeated outwards, his fists clenching first, then his burning ultra-blue eyes sparking viciously at Syed, as he hissed. "How can you sleep at night? Getting paid by terrorists!"

Syed glared back equally determinedly at Quinn, "I have no choice. They'll kill me and my family if I don't do what they ask." He glanced at his wife and blinked sorrowfully, "I'm likely a dead man already, for talking to you guys."

"Do you know the hostage's name?" crackled Quinn, still discharging his incandescent anger. Flies would be zapped to oblivion if they landed on him now.

"A guard supervises me so I can't speak to him," Syed shook his head sadly, before looking thoughtful. "The American is white with short brown hair. I couldn't see his eyes because of the blind-fold. He's fit, very nice muscles. Late thirties. Probably a good looking guy, without all the swelling and bruises."

_It's definitely Rudy McCoy, then. _Quinn inhaled and continue to glare at the Doctor with vehement hostility. He was momentarily disconcerted as he found himself noticing the sheen still present on Syed's bare pectoral muscles. He hated himself for feeling a flicker of relief that McCoy was always blind-folded when Syed had attended to him, so he couldn't appreciate those toned pecs himself.

Quinn flinched as his cell-phone suddenly started ringing loudly from his pocket. He answered it reluctantly and there was an eager panting puppy called Danny Galvez on the line. "I have some news on Abdul el-Zaid!"

"Wait a moment..." Quinn groaned inwardly in irritation, as he slowly backed out of the room, never taking his eyes off Syed Bacho's ridiculously chiselled abs. He gave a discrete nod to the two Lebanese CIA agents, indicating that they should continue to question him.

"Go on..." Quinn whispered into his cell-phone, as he entered the Bacho family's small kitchen and shut the door behind him.

"You were right about Abdul el-Zaid being a trader... but he didn't trade stocks!" Galvez was fizzing with excitement. "Guess what he traded?"

"Give me a moment, Galvez." Quinn collapsed down onto a wooden chair next to the small oval table. "I've just found that Rudy McCoy is still alive."

"Great news!" Galvez sounded like he was flitting around somewhere. "Well, this might be even more interesting for you then. We believe that Abdul el-Zaid traded people. He helped kidnap westerners then sold them onto terrorists!"

Quinn screwed his eyes up tightly, before rubbing them. "Abdul el-Zaid is dead isn't he?"

"Yes he is, but his widow Nadiyah is talking to us," whispered Galvez. "She's a CIA asset!"

"What the fuck, Galvez? Since when?" gasped Quinn, astounded. "We've researched every fucking el-Zaid on the planet over the last few weeks!"

"She's only been an asset for five weeks. She was going to be strictly off-the-books, but because of our blatant enquiries looking for Abdul el-Zaid, her local Lebanese handler has decided to come clean and talk to us. Before some idiot shows up and blows her cover."

"Some idiot?" growled Quinn."Like _me _you mean?!"

"Yes, an idiot like you, Quinn!" chuckled Galvez. "Actually, you're not an idiot at all. You picked the right Abdul and Nadiyah el-Zaid to investigate! It's highly likely that Brody _did_ see Abdul in Iraq, doing a business deal with Abu Nazir several years ago."

"Yeah, but Brody can't have seen the same Abdul el-Zaid in the United States more recently, when he got dragged off in the helicopter to see Nazir." pondered Quinn. "Unless he saw a ghost!"

"No, but he might have seen someone who looked very much like Abdul el-Zaid. His son, Yasir, looks like him and spends a lot of time in the United States apparently."

"Why has Nadiyah become a CIA asset?" wondered Quinn.

"Because hell hath no fury like a woman scorned! After Abdul's death, a Cabin Manager from Ethiad Airways turned up at Nadiyah's villa in Rachaiya with three little kids in tow. Turned out that Abdul was their father and the mistress wanted serious money. Those poor little kids, I feel so sorry..."

"Get to the fucking point, Galvez!" barked Quinn.

"Well, Abdul travelled internationally a lot, particularly to the United States and Abu Dhabi. He had this long term affair with the Cabin Manager and it seems that most of his co-workers and shady business associates knew about it. Nadiyah decided to get her revenge on all of them, by becoming an asset for the CIA."

"So what's Nadiyah doing to stay involved with Abdul's colleagues and associates?" asked Quinn. "Still kidnapping?"

Galvez sounded serious, "Her cover at the moment is that she's in mourning after Abdul's death, but when she's good and ready she'll be taking over from Abdul in the family business of kidnapping and buying or selling hostages."

"What about her son, Yasir?" Quinn scratched his head.

"Yasir is Nadiyah's step-son actually and she hasn't seen him since Abdul's funeral. She believes he travelled to the United States afterwards," replied Galvez.

Quinn was thoughtful, "So there's definitely a real chance that _Yasir_ was in the United States when Brody got off the helicopter and claims to have seen Abdul with Nazir?"

"Yes."

"Galvez, you need to bring Brody back in and interrogate him again. I think he's unsure whether he saw the father, or the son in the United States. Perhaps his memory is failing him in his old age, or he deliberately mislead us." A cold smile crept across Quinn's lips. "You need to interrogate him thoroughly. Push him over the edge if you need to. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

Galvez cleared his throat anxiously. "Can I ask Carrie to do it?"

"No you fucking cannot! Do it yourself! You're a trained interrogator, so make yourself useful instead of drifting around the corridors of Langley like a bad smell!" snapped Quinn.

"Should I tell Saul?" asked Galvez, meekly.

Quinn grunted, "Yes, tell Saul everything."

"There's something else I need to tell you, actually." Galvez perked up. "Abdul and Yasir el-Zaid are not Lebanese, or from the middle-east, they're Americans."

"Brody was right then," smiled Quinn. "He said Abdul sounded American, that's why he first noticed him in Iraq."

"The Lebanese handler said that when Nadiyah first met Abdul in the United States, about twenty-five years ago, he had already converted to Islam. She thinks he was a Catholic, prior to becoming a Muslim and he was a widower living with his young son, Yasir. Hispanic-Americans, I think." Galvez sounded like he was shuffling some papers. "Nadiyah was a student from Jordan, a very wealthy and liberal Muslim girl and they fell in love. They moved to Jordan and got married, then moved to Abu Dhabi, then Damascus in Syria and then finally Rachaiya in Lebanon where Nadiyah still lives."

"Did Abdul and Yasir el-Zaid change their names at all along the way?" asked Quinn. "Either before, or after he met Nadiyah?"

"I'll find that out," said Galvez.

Quinn felt a surge of optimism, "Can you initiate contact with Nadiyah el-Zaid's handler? We could use Nadiyah's reputation and cover as a hostage trader, to pretend that she's interested in buying Rudy McCoy from the _Children of Jihad_."

"OK, I'm onto to it," replied Galvez, efficiently.

Quinn's mind was racing, "We'll speak later. I better go back and see Doctor Bacho."

"Bye Sir," squeaked Galvez. He sounded proud as punch that he was playing a useful role within the CIA again.

...

Quinn marched back through into the lounge and frowned at the two Lebanese CIA agents who were sat playing _Angry Birds_ on their cell-phones, whilst the still bare-chested Syed Bacho rolled on the floor tickling his two young daughters. Only Hana was standing, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, as she looked anxiously out of the window.

"Doctor Bacho, I need your co-operation and assistance in making a plan to rescue the American hostage," Quinn glowered at Syed. "Then you have my word that we'll get you and your family out of Syria and to safety."

Syed grinned and hugged his daughters close. He nodded his assent as he looked up at Quinn, "Thank you. We've wanted to leave here for a long time."

Hana Bacho gulped emotionally, then a tear of relief trickled down her cheek. She scuttled out of the overcrowded lounge towards the private retreat of her small kitchen.

Quinn's darting blue eyes eventually met Syed's steady brown gaze. He knew that they needed to spend some time together and discuss how to rescue Rudy McCoy, the American hostage with very nice muscles; _probably a good looking guy, without all the swelling and bruises._


	38. Chapter 38: Blue-eyed Boyfriend

_Thanks for the reviews of Ch. 37 everyone! Sorry it's taken a while to post this next update. Thanks for your patience & let me introduce you to Nadiyah el-Zaid..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 38**

Danny Galvez was pulling out all the stops with telephone calls to help Peter Quinn organise a covert operation to rescue Rudy McCoy from the _Children of Jihad_ terrorist group in Syria. Before he knew it, Quinn had been driven back across the border into Lebanon to meet Nadiyah el-Zaid at her luxury villa near Rachaiya.

Nadiyah was in her early forties. She was cosmopolitan, feisty and chain-smoking. She wore a black silk blouse, blue skinny jeans and a loose bright pink hijab embellished with a fluttering organza rose on the side. She was excitable to the point that Quinn wondered if she had a mood disorder like Carrie's. She was certainly unlike any Muslim woman that he'd ever met before. _Is she really a Muslim? _He wondered._ Or is her hijab more of a fashion accessory?_

As Nadiyah strode around the vast room in her zebra-print high-heels, she explained how she was frequently contacted by terrorists looking to do business deals with her. She had politely declined, with her cover being that she was still in mourning and would be ready to collude with them for buying and selling hostages when she was ready.

Galvez had already explained to Quinn that since the death of Nadiyah's husband, Abdul, she had begun working as an asset for the CIA. Her freedom and protection in return for whatever information she could pass on about the activities and identities of her late husband's kidnapping clique.

Nadiyah was eager to help, especially when Quinn showed her a picture of himself and McCoy that he had on his cell-phone. It had been taken the evening before McCoy had flown out of the United States to Lebanon. The photo was of them by the pool table, shortly after they'd finished their game and before McCoy had followed a trendy crowd towards the karaoke bar. Quinn couldn't remember who'd taken the photo, probably some random stranger that McCoy had charmed. He didn't particularly appreciate the geeky glasses that McCoy had made him wear in the shot, but he liked that fact that they had their arms draped around each other's shoulders and were happy and laughing. Quinn hadn't even realised the photo was on his cell-phone until a couple of weeks ago. It had been a bittersweet discovery, found whilst Rudy was incommunicado in Lebanon and Quinn had no idea what was happening. Dar Adal's nightmare call the next day to say Rudy was missing and presumed dead had changed all that.

"He's certainly a cute blue-eyed boy." Nadiyah put her hands on her hips, in a pose reminiscent of Wonder Woman. "I'll be pleased to help rescue Rudy from those evil jihadist bastards!"

Quinn frowned, "You don't have to physically come, Mrs el-Zaid, we just need to use your name when we go with the money to pay for Rudy and get him out of there."

"Fuck that," grinned Nadiyah, wickedly. "From what I've learned about the way my husband did business, is he was very much hands on. Abdul liked to personally visit and assess the hostages he was purchasing from flea-bitten organisations like _Children of Jihad_. He would often bring a Doctor with him too, to assess the state of his prospective purchases."

Quinn liked the sound of that. "Any particular Doctor?"

Nadiyah shook her head, the pink flower on her designer hijab flapping wildly. "No, it depended on whereabouts Abdul was doing the transaction."

Quinn was relieved, "That's good. We have a local Doctor lined up who can help us, Mrs el-Zaid."

"Please!" She reached over and tapped Quinn's forearm, beaming a mega-watt smile. "Call me Nadiyah."

"Nadiyah..." Quinn straightened his posture assertively. "I'd rather you didn't accompany us to rescue the hostage. As you're a CIA asset with access to so many terrorists of interest, we don't want to compromise your cover prematurely."

Nadiyah wagged her finger defiantly. "I'll come to buy the hostage, then I'll do what I like with him," She pursed her lips and casually looked at the picture of Quinn and Rudy on his cell-phone again. "That's what Abdul did. He didn't hold onto hostages himself. He was the middle-man. Nobody will ever know what happened to your Rudy after I buy him. Quick transaction. All _Children of Jihad_ will know is that I buy the hostage from them, then sell him on for a profit to an unknown buyer. They won't give a fuck as long as they get their money!"

Quinn shook his head. "It's what happens afterwards, though. Once Rudy is safe, then we'll need to take action against _Children of Jihad_ to neutralise them and retrieve your payment. That's what could compromise your cover, Nadiyah."

"Not if it's done right," she smirked. "I'm sure a clever boy like you will figure something out. You better had do, because I'm coming to Syria, whether you like it or not! We can use my helicopter, just like Abdul used to do. Fly in, get what we want and fly out again."

"Do you have any training, Nadiyah?" Quinn was nervous. "I mean if anything goes wrong and you need to fire a weapon?"

"Trust me, I'm a woman with many hidden talents." Nadiyah smiled at Quinn secretively. "I'll help rescue your boyfriend."

"He's... um... not... em..." stuttered Quinn.

"Pah! The way the two of you are looking at each other in that photo?" Nadiyah threw her head back, laughing. "_Love is love._ Your secret is safe with me."

…

Nadiyah el-Zaid made tentative contact with a few acquaintances of her late husband and let them know that she was now back in business and looking for a big fish to purchase. She told them that she'd heard rumours that the _Children of Jihad_ in Syria had acquired a westerner. It took a few hours, but a call confirmed that the rag-tag mob over the border had an American soldier for sale and he was alive, but not in particularly good shape. They'd been unable to get him any proper medical care yet, apart from a local dumb ass Doctor with a few bandages.

Even though Quinn was severely sleep-deprived, he insisted that they make a plan and mobilise immediately. He said that they could agree the terms of the transaction en-route. He wondered if Doctor Bacho knew that the terrorists referred to him as a _dumb ass_? That might have made him laugh, but the knowledge that Rudy McCoy was _not in particularly good shape_ was almost too much for him to bear.

…

Upon arrival back in Syria by helicopter the following morning, Quinn could see Hana Bacho standing by her window and looking petrified as her husband, Syed climbed onto the helicopter to join him and the others. Syed looked nervously at Rayan the pilot who he recognised as one of the Lebanese CIA Agents who had visited his house only a couple of days earlier.

Syed grinned at Nadiyah as he sat down next to her and he stuck out his hand, "Hi, I'm Doctor Bacho. You must be Mrs el-Zaid? The beautiful woman with all the money, or so I heard on the phone from Agent Quinn!"

Her eyes flickered across his chiselled jaw and she winked assertively at him, "Please, call me Nadiyah."

Syed smiled nervously, remaining oblivious to her appreciative gaze. He had a large medical bag, that Quinn immediately opened and hid three handguns inside.

"You know how to shoot, Syed?" Quinn assessed the Doctor's shaking hands as he unsuccessfully tried to buckle his safety belt.

Syed nodded apprehensively and allowed Quinn to help him.

"Good." Quinn tightened the belt, just as the helicopter began it's ascent from the Bacho's road. Dust and dry grass was whipped into a ferocious billowing brown cloud as the rotor blades deflected the air downwards.

It was time to fly into the terrorists' compound and rescue Rudy McCoy.

...

Quinn looked at his haphazardly assembled team on-board Nadiyah's helicopter. Firstly, there was Rayan Chehab, the Lebanese CIA Agent who happened to know how to fly a helicopter and was probably the most useful in terms of being capable with a weapon and playing a part in an operation to rescue an American soldier from jihadist terrorists. There was Nadiyah el-Zaid, a revenge-seeking, flirtatious, adventurous Widow who thought she was Wonder Woman in a trendy hijab. Thirdly, there was Doctor Syed Bacho, a fitness fanatic who dearly loved his two young daughters. He was only assisting Quinn so his family would be given a safe passage out of Syria and away from the various terrorists who came knocking on his door during the night.

Quinn had a moment of self-doubt and guilt for risking the lives of these three innocent people in order to rescue McCoy. He wondered if he should put a stop to it immediately and telephone Dar Adal to arrange a proper black ops mission, now Syed had told him where the _Children of Jihad_ were holding McCoy. However, he was afraid that Dar Adal would throw a spanner in the works and leave McCoy to rot, injured and blindfolded in a cell.

Quinn also thought about calling Saul, but decided it would be unfair to place the burden of knowledge and responsibility on his shoulders. He had enough on his plate after the Memorial bombing. Quinn clenched his own shoulders tightly, before lowering them and exhaling. _Nope, this is my mess. Rudy is my responsibility and I'm getting him out of there before it's too late._

_..._

As the helicopter flew in the direction of the _Children of Jihad's_ compound, Rayan the pilot spoke frequently on the radio to Mansur, the other Lebanese CIA Agent who had stayed with Hana Bacho and her two daughters at the Bacho's hilltop house. They were busy packing the SUV with suitcases, ready to flee across the border into Lebanon to an established safe-house and prepare to be flown over to the United States.

"Are you sure it's going to be OK?" Syed rubbed his forehead. He was sweating more now than he had been after his uphill run a couple of days ago. "Won't the _Children of Jihad_ find it strange that I'll be arriving by helicopter with all of you guys?"

"Nonsense!" Nadiyah answered before Quinn had a chance to. "My contacts thought it was fine that we would collect a local Doctor en-route after I suggested it." She beamed at Syed, before squeezing his knee. "They suggested _you_. Don't be afraid. It is fine."

Syed looked disconcerted before forcing a smile. It was unheard of for a woman in a hijab to be so forthright and publicly touch a man who wasn't a family member. Quinn sensed Syed's confusion and smirked to himself as he turned to look out of the window and down onto the arid terrain below. He liked these pair. Syed reminded him of Rudy a lot. He seemed outgoing and extrovert, but with a nervous streak and an ongoing need for reassurance. Syed was also strikingly good-looking with a rock hard body. _Not that I've noticed his body. Why have I started noticing male bodies? Bloody Rudy McCoy has screwed up my head! How come I never appreciated the male form before now?_

Quinn distracted himself by considering Nadiyah. She was an unpredictable, hyperactive badass. She was fucking nuts and reminded him of... Quinn frowned. Nadiyah reminded him too much of Carrie. He suddenly wished that Carrie was there. Carrie was a professional. Nuts or not, she had bagged Abu goddamnfucking Nazir only a few months ago. He smiled as he realised that he was wishing Carrie was there for her skills as a CIA Agent and not for her skills as a fine piece of ass, or somebody he thought he'd been falling in love with. _I think I'm finally over her!_

...

Quinn noticed that Syed was staring at him in a way that unsettled him and he looked away quickly. Even though Syed was married with two daughters Quinn got the impression that Syed was probably not averse to a bit of male company from time to time. Quinn rubbed his eyebrows with his fingers and thumb, aware that _if_ he could rescue Rudy... _No! _He reprimanded himself. _When_ he rescued Rudy, then he wanted more than a jovial friendship and an annoying lodger. Quinn wanted... He frowned again. _What do I want? I'm not gay! I don't think I'm bisexual... but there's something about Rudy McCoy... _He remembered what Nadiyah had said about the photograph of himself and Rudy laughing together._ Love is love. _He pulled his cell-phone out of his pocket and looked at the picture that was now his screensaver. _Love is love. _He wasn't convinced, but decided to be open to persuasion.

...

Syed was craning his neck to see the picture on the screen and Quinn glared as he hurriedly pressed the power button off and popped the cell-phone back into his pocket.

"The hostage is a good friend of yours?" Syed smiled knowingly.

Quinn nodded, guardedly, "Yep."

"Blue. I was right!" Syed smirked and looked pleased with himself. "I guessed his eyes were blue underneath that filthy blindfold."

Quinn scowled as he drummed his fingers on his knee. He wondered if Syed was deliberately winding him up. _Why the fuck was Syed interested in the colour of McCoy's eyes?_

Nadiyah sensed the growing atmosphere between them and wagged her finger at Syed. "Behave yourself Doctor Bacho or you'll have me to deal with." She pouted teasingly.

Syed raised his eyebrows, finally sensing her attentive flirting, "You're wasting your time with me, Mrs el-Zaid! I'm a very happily married man." He winked at Quinn.

Nadiyah pursed her lips as she tried to weigh Syed up. She decided to lean forward to talk to Rayan the pilot instead, where she might have more luck.

"We're almost there, Mrs el-Zaid." Rayan grinned, flattered by her attention.

Syed gulped as he pointed out of the window. "I think that's the compound where the hostage is."

Nadiyah leant close to Syed as she looked out too. "You think Peter's blue-eyed boyfriend is down there?"

"Black and blue more like." Syed sighed sadly and gazed at Quinn. "He doesn't look like your photo anymore." Syed's eyes flashed with genuine concern and worry. "I'm just warning you, Agent Quinn."

Quinn swallowed and nodded gratefully as he mentally prepared to kill whoever had hurt Rudy McCoy.


	39. Chapter 39: Stifling, Squalid Cell

_Wow, thanks for the reviews of Ch. 38! Loving all the other stories & updates on here. Great work, guys! This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has expressed their dire concerns for the lovely Rudy..._

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 39**

As their helicopter hovered and began it's descent into the Syrian terrorists' compound, Peter Quinn checked with Nadiyah el-Zaid, Syed Bacho and the pilot Rayan Chehab that they were all confident with the plan and the imminent secret operation to rescue Rudy McCoy from the _Children of Jihad_.

"Here!" Nadiyah rummaged in her snakeskin purse and pulled out a scrunched up red fabric item and thrust it over to Quinn. "My step-son Yasir wears a cap like this all the time."

Quinn remembered Brody telling him that that when he'd seen Abdul el-Zaid in Iraq meeting Abu Nazir, that his driver, likely his son, had been wearing a red cap whilst he played soccer outside with Issa.

Quinn unfolded the cap and his eyes crinkled, amused at the sight of the white_ 'P'_ embroidered on the front, "Phillies!" he chuckled, "Yasir likes baseball?"

Nadiyah shrugged dismissively, "He likes all American sports."

Quinn pulled the red cap on, ensuring that the peak was low on his forehead. After so many days without a shave or a decent night's sleep, he wasn't convinced that his looks were still youthful enough to enable him to pass as Nadiyah's step-son, who was in his twenties and several years younger than himself.

…

Rayan, the Lebanese CIA agent remained at the controls of the stationary helicopter, whilst the other three got off. Syed lead the way, with Quinn and Nadiyah following closely behind. The terrorists greeted the familiar figure of Doctor Syed Bacho warmly, before they were all ushered like royalty inside the filthy, peeling building. The scruffy, bearded men sneaked awed glances at Nadiyah; her power, wealth and beauty obviously legendary to them already. They eyed Quinn suspiciously, but didn't approach or search him. Quinn assumed that they knew that Nadiyah had an American step-son, but hoped that they'd probably never seen Yasir el-Zaid in the flesh. Eventually one of the men offered Quinn awkward condolences regarding the death of his father, Abdul, which confirmed that he was successfully passing as Yasir.

The leader, who was oldest man led the way, limping, showing the group into a stifling, squalid cell that was only dimly lit by the streaks of sunlight passing through smeared patches on a blackened window with iron bars across it. There was a solitary sweating figure wearing a ragged black hood sat in the middle of the room. He was tied to the chair, tightly trussed with rope restraints. The captive had clearly been struggling because there was a criss-cross pattern of abrasions and friction burns matching the network of the ropes across his entire body, some oozing blood and yellow pus, many thickly scabbed over.

"Here's the stupid dog," spat the grey-bearded man, in Arabic. "Be careful he doesn't bite. I can sedate him if you like?" Two of the young, stringy guards nodded like they thought that might be a good idea.

Quinn eyed the makeshift grimy medical kit in the corner of the room, containing an assortment of soiled syringes and jagged, half-used ampoules and vials. "That won't be necessary," he murmured, feeling angry that Syed had probably given them the supplies to sedate McCoy. He noticed the shivering muscular shoulders beneath the black hood flinch. He wondered if McCoy had heard him and recognised his voice.

"Well?" Nadiyah glared at the captors haughtily. "Can we have some privacy with your doctor to assess the goods?"

The three grubby, bearded men nodded meekly and departed swiftly, banging the metal door behind them.

...

Quinn stared nervously at McCoy who was filthy and completely naked apart from his black hood, restraining ropes and two blood-soaked bandages, one around his thigh and the other wrapped loosely around his hips. _Trust McCoy to get shot in the ass,_ thought Quinn as he efficiently removed his friend's hood. Beneath the black hood, across McCoy's bloody stubble and dirt-caked face, was a grimy grey blindfold and putrid, blood-stained cloth gag.

Quinn reached behind McCoy's head and untied both knots. His friend started crying silently as his half-closed eyes adjusted and he managed to see who was stood directly in front of him. Quinn wrapped his arms around McCoy and held him close as Syed rummaged in his medical bag for some water, then a knife to free McCoy from the rope restraints. Quinn buried his face in McCoy's damp, matted hair and kissed the top of his head gently. He pulled away sharply when the foul smell hit him and he felt the lice jumping.

Quinn momentarily eyed Nadiyah and Syed, before he started to gently caress and wipe McCoy's face. He had to stop when it made his friend sob and jerk in pain. He'd clearly been beaten regularly as the patchwork of facial bruises beneath the dirt and congealed blood were all different shades of claret, indigo and yellow. McCoy didn't speak, but his exhausted, pus-encrusted eyes were pleading. _Get me out of here, Frosty Pants!_

Quinn nodded to him and temporarily slipped the black hood back over McCoy's head. He tenderly stroked his friend's muscular shoulder, raw from abrasion from the lacerating ropes. He wasn't going to let Rudy McCoy out of his sight any time soon. He glanced over at Nadiyah again, who was now looking nauseous with fear. It was time for her to bid on Rudy McCoy.

…

Nadiyah tapped on the metal door and spoke in Arabic with the guards. "I'll take him."

She left the room with the terrorists and there was clearly some haggling over money. Quinn could make out that apparently there was another offer on the table for McCoy, but Nadiyah was firm and increased her bid dramatically. They opened the door, ushering Nadiyah back inside. They asked for some privacy to discuss her offer and slammed the door aggressively in Nadiyah's face. She eyed Quinn nervously. "They're suspicious about something or other. I can tell. I think they've been tipped off. We need to get out of here now. _Now_!"

Quinn looked across at Syed who nodded. They were going to have to implement _Plan B_ immediately.

…

Syed tossed Quinn and Nadiyah the guns that were hidden inside his medical bag. They all helped to pull the last few restraining ropes off McCoy and Quinn removed his hood again, whispering instructions to them all. "Can you walk?" he asked. McCoy shook his head, but croaked drily. "I can probably shoot OK."

They heard heavy footsteps and loud whispers. The metal door opened and Quinn fired his gun twice and advanced. Two of the captors fell to the floor.

Quinn turned and passed McCoy his weapon as he hoiked him onto his back in a makeshift piggyback. Two more terrorists came running in and McCoy shot both of them in the face. He looked satisfied as they proceeded down the dingy corridor towards freedom.

…

As Quinn, McCoy, Nadiyah and Syed approached the exit they heard shouting and gunshots outside, then the distinctive rapid whirring sound of the helicopter rotor blades winding up, ready to take off. The high frequency noise of the tail rotor at such close range made Quinn wince, but he strode forwards purposefully with McCoy still clinging onto his back for dear life.

Quinn heard a high-pitched female squeal behind him in the dark corridor and he turned quickly to glimpse a scrawny hand reaching out of the shadows and grabbing Nadiyah's slender throat. He saw a brief flash as Syed fired his gun at close range and dragged Nadiyah back from her now incapacitated assailant. They stepped outside into the courtyard, just in time to see five bodies on the ground before the helicopter rotor downwash stirred up a thick brown dust cloud. It had begun to take-off without them, but the helicopter suddenly tilted violently then veered to the left and the main rotor scraped along the side of the building, causing the entire body to flip sharply onto it's side and impact hard onto the ground. One of the skids disintegrated as the the main rotor severed the tail boom and the helicopter ripped apart. It spewed fuel and smoke as shrapnel flew towards them. They all darted swiftly back inside the building, just as the engine burst into flames and exploded.

They ran back down the corridor as choking black fumes followed, engulfing them. Syed kicked a rickety door down which lead to small store room which thankfully exited onto the other side of the building.

...

Across the courtyard near an open gate, was a dusty Hyundai sedan, with the driver's open door facing towards them. The greasy youth inside closed the door quickly and scrabbled to reverse backwards in order to angle the car better towards the gate, but he slumped as McCoy shot him through his temple. Quinn ran and dragged the young driver's bleeding body onto the ground before he threw McCoy onto the backseat of the Hyundai. Syed ran round to the other side and pushed Nadiyah into the passenger seat, before leaping across the bonnet and sliding round behind the steering wheel. "Get in!" he yelled at Quinn who couldn't hear him because he was running back round the corner of the building to see the burning helicopter.

Quinn saw no sign of the pilot, Rayan, but a number of terrorists suddenly smashed a side window of the building from within and started emerging excitably out towards him. He sprinted back towards the car and leapt into the backseat, bouncing on a yelping McCoy's shins in the process. "Drive!" he yelled to Syed, although their newly-acquired vehicle was already moving towards the gate before he'd even shut the door properly.

…

Miles passed as they sped down the dusty road and after several attempts, Quinn finally got through to Mansur, the other Lebanese CIA Agent, on his cell-phone and let him know the horrific news about the helicopter explosion and the likely dead pilot, Agent Rayan Chehab.

Mansur informed Quinn that he was on the road heading west to the Lebanese border in the SUV with Syed's wife Hana and their two daughters.

Unbelievably, Mansur also said that he had a missed call from Rayan only two minutes ago. Quinn frowned. _Had one of the terrorists got hold of Rayan's cell-phone?_ His heart skipped a guilty beat. _Surely it couldn't have been Rayan who called? Could he have survived the helicopter explosion and still be back at the terrorists' compound? _He wondered whether they should go back for him.

Mansur quickly hung up in case Rayan called again.

Four minutes later, confirmation came from a chuckling Rayan who said that he was out of the compound and going to head back to Lebanon on a motorbike that he'd stolen from the terrorists' after he'd shot the last few of them, just after they'd climbed out of a window. He believed they were all dead and the compound was now deserted.

Quinn had no idea how Rayan had got out of the ill-fated helicopter, but he sighed with relief. _Maybe not such a botched mission after all. _He frowned._ Although Nadiyah will now need a new helicopter and probably a new identity._

_..._

Quinn had never imagined that the first time he would kiss Rudy McCoy on the lips would be when they were lying down together on the back seat of a Hyundai sedan in Syria. He never thought that he would be the one to initiate the kiss either. He had half expected McCoy to pounce on him sometime. Maybe at home after a few drinks. However, McCoy was presently in no fit state for drinking, pouncing or probably even kissing. McCoy was lying awkwardly and gasping like he was in severe pain. Quinn leant closer to reassure him and instinctively kissed McCoy softly, their stubble briefly grazing like two halves of _Velcro_ ready to bind. McCoy's lips were dry and bloody, so Quinn licked them gently, before pressing his own lips against his friend's again. McCoy turned his head away slightly and croaked. "Get off..." His eyelids closed over the increasingly dilating pupils in his dull eyes.

Quinn sat himself up and cradled McCoy in his arms. This made him squirm in even more pain and his breathing became rapid. "Can we stop and give him something?" Quinn asked Syed anxiously.

"Look in the bag," Syed wasn't going to stop. Despite everything, he'd managed to cling onto his precious medical bag. Nadiyah pulled it out from her foot-well and passed it backwards to Quinn.

Quinn rummaged and found a syringe, needle and a small ampoule of Morphine sulphate. He wished that he could have some of it himself, to numb the emotional pain of seeing his best mate Rudy McCoy in such a sorry state.

He removed the syringe from the wrapper and and attached the needle. He snapped the neck off the glass ampoule and drew up the contents. He pushed the air out of the syringe and rolled McCoy onto his side, unsure where to inject because of the ragged bandages still covering his thighs and pelvis.

"Not there. Not in a muscle. Inject it into a vein, it'll work quicker," Syed ordered, looking in the rear view mirror.

Quinn aimed the needle into a prominent vein on the back of McCoy's hand. He felt McCoy jerk and tense, then relax as the elixir entered his veins. After two minutes he heard him gasp; warm, detached and euphoric, "Oh baby... that's so fucking good."

Seconds later, McCoy was choking and coughing thick, coagulated bloody vomit all over Quinn's arms.

"Shit, Syed!" yelled Quinn, the viscous brown fluid was warm and sliming down his wrists and forearms. "Let's swap! Let me drive! You need to help Rudy back here!"

"It's OK, he's probably just not tolerating the morphine very well." Syed glanced over his shoulder, relatively unconcerned.

McCoy retched again, it sprayed and covered Quinn's shirt. The volume of blood was copious and bright red this time. Syed put his foot down on the gas pedal and yelled. "If he's vomiting a lot of blood then he might have a hemodynamically significant case of hematemesis. It could lead to hypovolemic shock."

"Syed, what the fuck are you talking about?" Quinn scowled as he ignored the crimson fluid covering him. He stroked McCoy's suddenly cold and clammy forehead. "I'm not a fucking doctor like you! What's hemo... hema... hypovolemic shock?"

"We need to get him to hospital urgently. Rudy's already dehydrated and now he's vomiting a lot of blood." Syed swerved erratically to avoid an oncoming moped. "He might be bleeding internally, possibly from his gunshot wound. Maybe some sharp fragments of pelvic bone or a broken rib have shifted and severely injured his gut; perhaps from all the action and movement earlier. If he bleeds internally too much, then he will get a decrease in blood volume which can lead to the shock."

Quinn nodded as Syed explained it layman's terms for himself and Nadiyah. "But he seemed OK earlier," frowned Quinn. "Well not OK, but certainly not as bad as this!"

Syed shrugged, "The symptoms of internal bleeding are less obvious than external."

"Doctor Bacho..." Nadiyah turned to Syed, "What's the prognosis for hypovolemic shock?"

"If we don't get Rudy to a hospital quickly..." Syed tensed his shoulders and gripped the steering wheel tightly. "I guarantee that he will die."

"Don't you dare fucking leave me..." Quinn whispered angrily. He swallowed tightly and stared helplessly down at McCoy who was rapidly weakening and losing consciousness within his protective, slimy, coagulating embrace. "Stay with me buddy... I've only just got you back."


	40. Chapter 40: FUBAR CASEVAC

_Can't believe I've reached the big 4-0 chapters! How did that happen? Thanks for the reviews of Ch. 39 which gave me the energy & inspiration to keep on writing. Not long now 'til Season 3! Yippee! x_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 40**

"Elevate Rudy's feet by twelve inches," Syed ordered, ever the authoritive medical doctor, even with his foot firmly on the accelerator of a vehicle stolen from a gang of terrorists. "Make sure you're keeping him warm." Quinn obeyed and contorted the increasingly limp Rudy into the correct position on the back-seat of the Hyundai sedan. There was a grimy, stained robe lying in the footwell that he grabbed and draped over his friend's bare chest, before hugging him closely.

"Why is Rudy vomiting blood if he was shot much lower... in the pelvis?" asked Nadiyah.

Syed grimaced, "The more I think about it, I don't think his gunshot wound is causing the haematemesis."

Nadiyah frowned, "What is that?"

"Vomiting blood is called haematemesis. Gunshot wounds are high-energy injuries that cause a lot of damage if the bullet traverses the body, destroying organs and tissues along its tract." Even though this was obvious, Syed's succinct explanation made both Nadiyah and Quinn wince. "I believe the bones of Rudy's pelvis must have stopped the bullet, because if it had penetrated any further, he would have suffered extreme complications long before now. Particularly if the bullet had caused vascular damage within his pelvis, or perforation of his bladder or intestines."

Nadiyah turned to Syed. "You think the bullet might be lodged in his hip or ass cheek then?"

"Probably." Syed grinned fleetingly, before becoming serious again. "I think his haematemesis is being caused by a perforation to his oesophagus, stomach lining or duodenum, or he's vomiting the blood that he's ingesting from a haemorrhage in his nose or throat. I suppose there's a chance he's been forced to ingest something corrosive, but he's most likely bleeding from abdominal trauma."

"From the terrorists' beatings?" asked Quinn and Nadiyah in unison.

Syed nodded. "Yeah, probably. He needs a scan as soon as we get to..."

Quinn groaned as his cell-phone started ringing loudly. _Fucking Danny Galvez._ He looked at the screen and bit his lip. It wasn't Galvez, it was Dar Adal.

"Is that you _Frosty Pants_?" Dar Adal sounded unnaturally and disturbingly chirpy. "Before you ask, I'm still in Lebanon and being a selfish old bastard at the station here. I have some good news for you."

Quinn frowned, confused. "Good news?"

"Yes, it's about the likely whereabouts of Rudy McCoy. He's alive!" Dar Adal chuckled smugly to himself. "We have intelligence that a small cell called _Children of Jihad_ are holding him as a hostage. They're based west of Qatana in Syria and I'm about to send two units in by heli to neutralise them and rescue him..."

"Um, Sir," gulped Quinn. "That won't be necessary."

Dar Adal paused before speaking slowly and suspiciously, "What do you mean _that won't be necessary_?"

"I'm already in Syria and in a vehicle that we've stolen from _Children of Jihad. _I'm with McCoy... he's badly injured. I don't know if he'll make it." Quinn closed his eyes and clasped McCoy's hand tightly. "The doctor who's driving says he's heading for a private hospital near..."

"What doctor?" growled Dar Adal, threateningly. "What's going on? What the fuck have you done, Quinn?"

"I've, erm... We've rescued Rudy McCoy." Quinn gritted his teeth and awaited the onslaught from his boss.

"Does Saul Berenson know about this?" Dar Adal barked furiously. "Is he behind this?"

"Only somewhat," mumbled Quinn. "No, not at all really."

There was a raging silence on the end of the line, before Dar Adal breathed again. "Quinn, give me a _SITREP_ for the _Children of Jihad's_ compound?"

"All Enemy Combatants are dead, Sir." Quinn felt a flicker of hope at his boss's request for a Situation Report. Perhaps the shit he was in wouldn't be quite as deep as anticipated. "Certainly all the EC's that were present at the compound are dead... well, according to Rayan Chehab who was the last CIA Agent to leave their compound."

More silence. Time slowed and Quinn thought that he could vaguely hear Dar Adal's Rolex watch ticking down the line, like a time bomb. Eight indistinguishable beats per second.

"Well, _Frosty Pants_. I've got two military helicopters ready here, both fully loaded with armed units and about to take off." Dar Adal finally spoke again and his words were loaded with sarcasm. "What do you suggest I do with them?"

"Send one directly here for Rudy McCoy. _CASEVAC_." ordered Quinn, suddenly feeling inspired. _Casualty Evacuation._ He knew that a helicopter could quickly get McCoy to an area where emergency medical care could be provided.

"And my other heli?" Dar Adal snarled, viciously.

"Send the other unit to the _Children of Jihad's_ compound as planned. Check for any stray EC's, then burn their compound to the ground." Quinn rubbed the beads of sweat from his forehead. "Make sure the guys destroy Nadiyah's crashed heli."

"Who's Nadiyah?" groaned Dar Adal.

"The CIA asset, Nadiyah el-Zaid. She assisted me with this operation." Quinn imagined that he could hear Dar Adal's eyes creaking as he rolled them.

"Not the _el-Zaid _lead in Rachaiya that Saul has told me about?" yelled Dar Adal, "Not Abdul-the-kidnapper's widow?"

"Yes Sir," Quinn grimaced at his dismayed tone.

"This is all fucking irregular, Quinn," spat Dar Adal, his outrage fizzing and bubbling. "Highly irregular and highly fucking irresponsible."

"Sir... Rudy McCoy is bleeding to death in my arms and I need your help to save him." Quinn was authoritative as he stroked McCoy's louse-ridden, matted hair. "You can kick my ass and relieve me of my duties once the heli _CASEVAC_ has flown him out of here to safety."

There was a further ominous silence, before Dar Adal spoke coldly and efficiently. "I'll remove the armed unit off one of the helicopters right now and get a medic on board instead, if I can fucking find one. You'll need to find a suitable landing zone for the _CASEVAC_ heli and let me know your co-ordinates ASAP." Dar Adal grumbled, defeated, before whispering through clenched teeth. "Then you can tell me the whole story about this unauthorised _FUBAR_ operation of yours..."

"_FUBAR_?" mused Quinn, "I wouldn't describe a mission that has possibly saved McCoy's life as being _Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition_."

Dar Adal finally exploded, hissing and spitting like an over-pressurised cooking pot. "Shut the fuck up, Quinn, you... you... despicable, disobedient minion."

…

After driving down a remote lane and finding a suitable clearing which could be used as a landing zone for the casualty evacuation helicopter, Syed was now fully in medical doctor mode and attending diligently to McCoy. Quinn and Nadiyah searched the Hyundai for anything that could be collected as evidence relating to the activities of the _Children of Jihad_.

There was a bunch of till receipts, interspersed with chocolate bar wrappers and sticky, solidified tissues stashed within the glove compartment. An imported pornographic magazine peeked out from under the passenger seat. In the trunk of the vehicle was a video camera, a locked briefcase and two filthy camouflage jackets.

Quinn couldn't even be bothered to leaf through the porno magazine and simply stacked it along with everything else. The pile of random items for later evaluation were ready to bring aboard the helicopter when it landed.

After what felt like hours of waiting, Quinn saw two black choppers approaching low on the horizon. Both made a bee-line for their clearing and were stealthily quiet in the distance. Quinn glanced down at McCoy who was still unconscious and now deathly pale with scabbed, greying lips, despite Syed's best efforts. He hoped that it wasn't too late.

...

Quinn was surprised to see that a glowering Dar Adal was actually on the first helicopter that landed and he immediately gestured for Nadiyah to climb aboard and sit next to him.

With the help of Syed, Quinn and the newly arrived Military Medic, Rudy McCoy was soon lying on a stretcher behind Dar Adal. The Medic and Syed used the limited medical equipment to try and stabilise him. When Dar Adal asked both of them for the likelihood of McCoy pulling through, they shook their heads almost imperceptibly.

Quinn glanced around at the empty seats, not wanting to sit in the wrong place in the _CASEVAC_ helicopter. Dar Adal glared coldly before he spoke. "You're going on the other heli, Quinn. You can assist the team who are going to inspect the _Children of Jihad's_ compound. You can give them a _SITREP_ on the internal layout of the buildings, seeing as you've already been in there today."

Quinn froze. He didn't want to leave McCoy. He looked at his friend who was possibly ninety percent dead already. "But... but..." he stuttered. He couldn't leave McCoy like this.

Dar Adal glared at him dispassionately as he hissed. "The sooner you get off here _Frosty Pants_ and onto that other heli, then the sooner we can be on our way back to Lebanon to get some proper medical care for McCoy."

"Go..." Syed touched his arm lightly. "Trust me. I'll take good care of Rudy."

Quinn felt his hackles rising sharply. _I bet you'll do more than fucking look after him, given half a chance. _He glared at Syed, warningly and spoke in a low voice. "Don't let me down, Doctor Bacho. I doubt that Hana and your kids are at the safe house yet."

Syed nodded, seemingly understanding the implicit threat.

Nadiyah's anxious eyes were darting around the unfamiliar helicopter. She appeared afraid of the brooding Dar Adal, even though Quinn had already explained who he was, even down to the waffles. "Take care, Peter."

Quinn swallowed as he stepped over McCoy's immobile body and ducked out of the helicopter. He wanted to bend down and stroke his friend's cold, bruised cheek, or squeeze his icy hand in case it was the last time he could ever touch him, but he didn't. _Goodbye Amigo. _He blinked back an errant watery droplet in the corner of his eye. _See you in hell._

Quinn composed himself as he strode rigidly and purposefully over to the other black helicopter and boarded it without looking back. A soldier on board passed him a bundle of military clothing and kit to put on. Quinn felt like a numb robot on auto-pilot as he prepared for this operation of returning to the _Children of Jihad's_ compound. Feeling something akin to peaceful relief whilst lying on the back-seat of the stolen car and kissing McCoy on his dry, bloody lips for the first time, felt like a lifetime ago now.


	41. Chapter 41: Face the Music

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 41**

When Peter Quinn and the other Special Ops soldiers arrived at the _Children of Jihad's_ compound by helicopter, it was deserted. They took their time, checking all the combatants' bodies for any cell-phones, identification and other evidence. They searched every building and room in the compound, taking photos and grabbing all the documents and laptops that they could find. Quinn shivered as he found himself, yet again, in the dingy cell where McCoy had been held and beaten. He grimaced as he took photographs of the blood-stains on the floor and the remains of the rope restraints that he had cut off his friend earlier.

The Special Ops unit decided to stake out the area for a bit longer in case anybody else showed up, be it members of the _Children of Jihad_, Hezbollah guerrillas, or the Al-Qaeda commanders who had also put a bid in for McCoy. However, no other prospective bidders or buyers came along for their grisly purpose of purchasing a hostage.

Quinn was relieved when they all re-boarded the military helicopter and watched the burning compound being obliterated below. It was time to fly back to Lebanon to face the music from Dar Adal and find out if Rudy McCoy was still alive or not.  
...

To say Dar Adal was angry was a gross understatement. Quinn hadn't seen his boss like this since he'd informed him that he had independently decided against shooting a praying Brody in the woods.

"You're a fucking liability Quinn and I'm wiping my hands of you now. If Berenson wants to keep you on in the CIA, then that's his fucking problem, but you've undermined my authority twice within the last few months. The first time I let you off about Brody, because I didn't trust that sonofabitch Estes either... But. This. Time..." Dar Adal paused to breathe before grinding his teeth even harder. "This fucking time, you've not only gone behind my back, but you've blown the cover of Nadiyah el-Zaid, possibly the most valuable asset the CIA has ever had in the middle-east and now..."

Quinn couldn't focus until his burning, distracting question had been answered. "Sir, how is Rudy McCoy?"

Dar Adal clenched his fists as he bit his lip. "He went for a scan, then into surgery as soon as we got back on the CASEVAC heli... I haven't heard any news yet."

"Please may I go over to the hospital and find out?" asked Quinn, trying to be submissive, meek, polite and charming in equal measure.

"Do what you like! You will anyway. You've given up listening to me." Dar Adal looked nostalgic. "You were my best soldier Quinn. I personally recruited you and trained you, but now you're not worth shit to me."

Quinn felt a flicker of guilt, "Sir, I, I..."

"Just go Frosty Pants," Dar Adal sounded completely resigned, before he added, more humanely, "and ring me if there's any news on McCoy."

…

"What's up, Doc?" After a short walk, Quinn eventually found Syed Bacho pacing the corridor within the small, private hospital. He was nervy and buzzing, probably from too many espressos out of the ominously complex, yet tempting, vending machine. "How's McCoy?"

"Rudy had an exploratory laparotomy which revealed a segment of fractured rib had, at some point this afternoon, perforated the posterior wall of his stomach." Syed tapped Quinn's back.

"What?!" Quinn moved away from Syed. He felt responsible as he remembered heaving McCoy around at the compound and forcibly shoving him into the back of the car. _Why wasn't I more gentle with him?_

Syed continued, brusquely. "The rib had penetrated Rudy's diaphragm and was seen protruding through the retroperitoneum below his spleen. Gastric perforation is a rare complication of rib fracture. I've only heard of two cases..."

"Is he going to be OK?" Quinn's own stomach was churning now.

"The perforated area was excised and the stomach closed with a linear stapler." Syed nodded. "The surgeon is anticipating an uneventful recovery."

"Is that good news?" Quinn glanced sideways at Syed as the gurgling vending machine dispensed a foul, thick brown liquid into his beige plastic cup.

Syed smiled. "Well, he's going to need a lot of pain relief and rest, until his pelvis, ribs and gastrointestinal injuries heal properly, but Rudy is going to be fine."

"Thank God... Fuck," spat Quinn. "I'm glad his prognosis is better than this coffee."

Syed slumped down into a red plastic chair. "How long have you guys been together?"

Quinn froze, momentarily disconcerted, but he sat down gingerly next to Syed, still clutching the lukewarm plastic cup. "Not long enough," he muttered, before sighing.

Syed looked wistful, "I wish I had what you have."

"What?" frowned Quinn, confused, "Rancid coffee?" _Rudy?_

"Love, I guess," Syed shrugged.

Quinn pffted, "What about your wife, Hana? Your girls?"

"Marriage and children are not the same as love." Syed looked down sadly. "I had a chance, before I was married and I never took it. It seemed like an impossible situation."

"Where is _he_ now?" guessed Quinn, wondering if his hunch was correct.

Syed shook his head. "Dead probably. He was more inclined to be open about it. It probably got him killed at some point."

_Sounds like fucking Syrian Brokeback Mountain to me_, thought Quinn. "What are you going to do?"

"I'll go with Hana and the girls to the United States as planned, be protected by the CIA... and find some hills to run up, I guess." Syed grimaced.

"I'm sorry, Syed," mumbled Quinn.

Syed leaned in confidentially. "Have you ever had any problems in the United States? I mean any issues because of your... erm... orientation?"

Quinn looked away. "Syed... I... um... It's a long story. You know Rudy and I... erm... nobody knows yet. It's complicated." _Rudy doesn't even know._

"Don't worry I won't tell anyone." Syed grinned. "I already warned Nadiyah that we needed to be discreet regarding the affection we witnessed at the compound and in the car."

"You know Syed, if you need any help tracking your ex down, I might be able to make some enquiries. It's sort of my job to find people." Quinn though it was unnecessary to add, _before killing them_.

Syed nodded. "I'll bear that in mind. I hope I can keep in touch with you... and Rudy, of course."

Uncertainty was obscured behind Quinn's steady blue gaze. "Sure." _Does Syed still have an agenda with Rudy?_ He remembered the _very nice muscles_ comment that Syed had made when they'd first met and the excessive interest in Rudy's eye colour. _Was this man a rival?_ Quinn hoped not, he couldn't be dealing with that sort of shit again. It had been bad enough with himself and Brody peacocking for Carrie's affections. Quinn couldn't face being on the losing side of a potential love triangle again.

"Perhaps I can come along with you guys... to a gay bar sometime?" Syed looked naive and hopeful.

Quinn spluttered, horrified. The karaoke bar had been bad enough. _Is that what a relationship with McCoy might entail? _He wiped the cold, bitter rivulets of coffee off his chin. _I ain't setting foot in a gay bar._

"Doctor Bacho? You'll be pleased to hear that Rudy's doing just fine." A rotund nurse bustled happily through the double doors. "You did a great job with your emergency care prior to his admittance into hospital. Your first aid saved his life. Do you want to come through and say hello now he's awake?"

"Told you I'd look after Rudy." Syed nudged Quinn and both were blinking and smiling with relief. "You go through, I need to call Hana and my kids before we go to the airbase to fly to the United States."

"Thanks Syed... I mean for the doctoring and the driving." Quinn suddenly became acutely aware of what Syed had been through today. He'd gone above and beyond what Quinn had expected from him. "The shooting too, saving Nadiyah. What a day, eh?"

"Anytime, my friend," Syed sniffed, before laughing. "It was like an adventure to me and worth it. It means I can fly my family to safety and finally escape from those terrorists always knocking on my door."

They shook hands warmly before Syed walked away down the corridor and disappeared through a door. The nurse raised an eyebrow at Quinn and inclined her head for him to follow her. It was time to see Rudy McCoy who was hopefully now beginning his uneventful recovery from surgery.


	42. Chapter 42: Think Straight

_I'm back! Thanks for the lovely pm's & reviews!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 42**

"Sorry it looks like he's fallen asleep again." The nurse ushered Peter Quinn into the small private room where Rudy McCoy was lying on his side and appeared to be sleeping soundly in his hospital bed. She viewed the screens on two of the flickering monitors, then checked that McCoy's position was stable, propping him with various pillows and cushions, before departing.

Quinn pulled a chair across and sat next to the bed and held his friend's limp, warm hand gently. He stared at McCoy and was glad to see that his face was now serene and clean. Cut and bruised, but no longer covered with coagulated blood and dirt. McCoy's jaw remained covered with unkempt stubble, but the hair on his head had been shaved short. Quinn sniffed it, momentarily enjoying the ticklish soft fuzz. It smelt medicated and he guessed that the lice wouldn't have stood a chance. He stroked his friend's muscular shoulder gently, unable to resist gradually easing his fingers under the green cotton gown. McCoy jerked and his face contorted in fear and pain, as he screwed his eyes up tightly rather than open them. "No, please no..."

"Shhh... it's me..." Quinn wrapped his arms around him gently.

"Get off," McCoy groaned and tried to readjust his position. "Fuck off!" He still hadn't opened his eyes as he pushed.

"It's me. It's Quinn." He tried to soothe his friend and patted his hand.

McCoy gritted his teeth and peeped out through one slightly swollen eye. "I thought you were... I thought I was still..."

"It's OK," Quinn cocked his head to try and get eye contact with McCoy. "You're safe. You're with me now."

McCoy started to weep softly and it made Quinn cry too. They embraced each other as best they could.

"It's my own fault!" sobbed McCoy, "I was trying to be the Super Hero in Syria. I chased two Hezbollah guys for miles, I was alone and running in all my combat gear. I was so pissed off that they'd shot the other five guys in my team at the ammunitions warehouse and there was the fire..."

Quinn stroked McCoy's short hair gently, "Shhh... you and another black-ops guy survived. The other soldier is badly burned and still in intensive care. Four of your guys and nineteen Hezbollah guerrillas died at the warehouse according to Dar Adal."

"I couldn't let those two Hezbollah guys get away, I shot both of them eventually, but then a van pulled up and there were about ten heavily-armed scruffy bastards who shot me in the pelvis and grabbed me. Then another van-load of them arrived... I thought they were going to kill me there and then..."

"They were the _Children of Jihad_ gang and they tried to eBay you," smiled Quinn. "Luckily I placed the winning bid."

McCoy's sobs subsided into sniffs, then he choked on a half-laugh that seemed to hurt his ribs. "Did those bandits accept your dodgy PayPal payment then?"

"They're all dead now." Quinn caressed McCoy's bare muscular arm. "For what they did to you."

"Bunch of savage motherfuckers. At least I got to practice my _conduct after capture_ skills and _resistance to interrogation_ training." McCoy shifted his body weight. "That Doctor Bacho they brought in for my gunshot wound seemed good though. He was certainly more generous than this damn hospital with the morphine." McCoy was clearly still in a lot of pain and unable to get comfortable after the surgery on his stomach. "I think I need more painkillers, whatever they've given me is wearing off."

"OK, I'll call the nurse..." Quinn looked around to see if there was a buzzer or cord to pull.

"Wait," McCoy shifted again, with his teeth gritted. "I just wanted to say thanks..."

"Thanks?" Quinn frowned. "It was the least I could do, buddy."

McCoy spoke slowly. "I thought you hated me. After our last phone call. Oh man, I asked you to do a striptease. I'm so sorry. If I get out of here, I'll never wind you up again."

"I hope you'll be out of here and winding me up again in no time," Quinn smirked, then added. "You never got my text then?"

"Text? No..." McCoy looked confused. "I've no idea where my cell-phone is. What did it say?"

"I was slightly drunk, but it was along the lines of _I'll give it a go, if you show me what to do_," Quinn winked.

McCoy tried not to laugh again for the pain it would cause him. "You must have been a bit more than slightly drunk?"

"Well, I'm not drunk now and I'm telling you about it," whispered Quinn, teasingly stroking McCoy's hair. "You've no idea what the sight of you licking that ice popsicle did to me, you bastard. I haven't been able think straight since then. I don't even know if I am straight anymore."

"Oh Frosty Pants... I've no idea what you're talking about. Best shut up, before you say something you'll regret and make me laugh again," grinned McCoy, before grimacing. "My gut and ribs hurt too much."

Quinn and McCoy regarded each other happily at their attempted banter, both equally amused, then gradually more coy. They leant close and their blue gazes were aligned intensely, which sent an unexpected and fierce jolt of arousal down through Quinn's tired body.

_Does this hurt?_ Quinn imagined saying, if he could only pluck up the courage to kiss McCoy's bruised lips. _Fuck it._ He closed his eyes and leant forward, his breathing more shallow as he whispered, "Does this hur..." _Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Both jerked away as Quinn's cell-phone started ringing at maximum volume. "Fuck!" Quinn struggled to retrieve it from his back pocket. "Fucking Galvez or Dar Adal I bet."

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_ A sour-faced nurse ran into the room. "No cell-phones in here, please! Turn it off, or take your call in the corridor."

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_ "Sorry..." Quinn eventually managed to press 'cancel'. He froze when he saw the caller display._ Carrie Mathison_. His grip tightened on his cell-phone. _Carrie?_

"What's up Frosty Pants?" frowned McCoy. "You look like you just saw a ghost!"

_Carrie!_ Quinn hadn't seen or spoken to her in weeks. _What did she want? Was she OK?_

"Sorry, I better pop out and return this call, buddy." Quinn was in a daze as he spoke. "I just cut Carrie off."

"Carrie." McCoy slumped back down onto his nest of pillows and groaned. "You still secretly madly in love with her?"

"What?" Quinn glanced at McCoy as if he'd spoken an incomprehensible language, then stared back down at Carrie's name on the screen. "No... I..." He tried to calculate the time it would be in Langley. _Was Carrie at home or work? Was she alone and drunk? Where was Brody?_

The irate nurse reappeared. "I said no cell-phones in here! Turn it off, or go back out to..."

"The corridor... yeah, I'm on my way..." Quinn scuttled out of the room, still clutching his cell-phone tightly as he left a lonely and pained-looking McCoy behind.

...

"Hello stranger!" Carrie's tone was unexpectedly soft and silky down the line. Quinn had almost forgotten how sexy her voice sounded.

"What do you want Carrie?" Quinn inhaled and swallowed resolutely, trying to ignore the memories and feelings she was inadvertently stirring just by speaking to him. "I'm really, really busy right now."

"So I hear!" She chuckled warmly. "Galvez has been on a long call with Dar Adal. You're quite the new Super Hero, Quinn!"

_Super Hero!_ Quinn pursed his lips, momentarily startled by a sudden and vivid memory of Carrie gushing about McCoy the first day he'd appeared at Langley. She had laughed, _"You mean you haven't met Rudy McCoy? He's our resident Super Hero!"_

_"Met him? No. I've never even heard of him!"_ Quinn had scowled.

Carrie's eyes had misted as she sighed nostalgically._ "He's Rudy McCoy. He's the CIA Agent that saved my life in Beirut. Rudy McCoy is a legend, Quinn, a legend."_

…

"Are you and Galvez still at work alone?" snapped Quinn, confused by the unwanted bitter drizzle of misplaced jealousy he felt seeping within. "Surely it's the middle of the night there?"

"Hold on," purred Carrie. "I'm going to put Saul and Galvez on speaker-phone."

"Why are the three of you at Langley in the early hours?" scowled Quinn, still disconcerted.

"Quinn, you idiot, it's the afternoon here," Carrie chastised him. "Galvez wants to brief the three of us; you, me and Saul about something."

"Great," Quinn rolled his eyes as he waited impatiently for the others to join the call.

"Hey Quinn," Galvez sounded like he was grinning broadly down the line. "Well done on rescuing Rudy McCoy."

"My pleasure," mumbled Quinn, wishing that he'd kept his cell-phone switched off whilst at McCoy's bedside. He wanted to get back to his friend and carry on what they had almost started. _Does this hurt?_ He licked his aching lips and sighed, defeated. _Fucking Carrie. Fucking Carrie and Brody. Fucking Galvez. Fucking world. My fucking head._

"Does the name _'John Diaz'_ mean anything to you?" Galvez asked, suddenly more solemn.

...

Prior to his next heartbeat, Quinn's entire body froze rigid, paralysed apart from his jaw dropping open. He snapped his mouth shut before he screwed his eyes up tightly. _Did Galvez really just say..._

"Dar Adal has been interrogating your helper, Nadiyah, since your heroic rescue of McCoy. He's found out that her late husband, Abdul el-Zaid, was really called 'John Diaz' before he converted to Islam about thirty years ago."

_Coincidence_. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief. _There are thousands of John Diaz's out there. I should know better instead of assuming that Galvez is talking about John Diaz, my..._

"The Hispanic-American father and son were from Philadelphia originally, before Abdul and Nadiyah married and moved to Jordan with Abdul's son, Yasir."

_Philadelphia_. Quinn's lips twitched uneasily. He recalled the red baseball cap with the embroidered '_P_' that Nadiyah had given him to wear, to pretend to be Yasir, her American stepson. _Of course, that's why Yasir is a Philadelphia Phillies fan_. _He's from there._

"Abdul's son, Yasir, was also called 'John'. He was 'John Diaz junior' before their joint conversion from Catholicism to Islam," chattered Galvez.

Quinn scratched his head and tried to remain calm. _There's probably a lot of Diaz families in Philadelphia. Lots and lots of John Diaz's._

Galvez went on, "Dar Adal and I have come to the conclusion that the deceased hostage trader, Abdul el-Zaid, was in fact the notorious 'John Diaz' who was involved in a child abduction case about thirty years ago in Philadelphia. 'John senior' abducted his own son, 'John junior', then vanished without a trace. His wife, Rosa Diaz, campaigned for years, but her son, 'John Diaz junior', was never seen again."

Quinn's heart clenched._ Rosa Diaz? No... It wasn't possible. This wasn't happening._

Galvez sounded pleased with himself at his research. "Rosa Diaz was pregnant with another child when her son, 'John junior', was abducted. A little girl..."

"Julia..." Quinn's face crumpled as he covered his eyes with his hands. "Julia Diaz."

Galvez spoke curiously, "Yes, Julia... you already know about this case?"

_Julia fucking Diaz._ Quinn couldn't breathe let alone speak.

Saul spoke for him. "No, Quinn doesn't know about the case. He must have spoken with Dar Adal already."

Galvez continued, "OK... well Julia Diaz is a single mom, a Police Officer with the Thirteenth District in Philadelphia. She has a four year old son and there's no father recorded on his birth certificate. The boy is called... well go on, have a guess?!"

Saul's voice was unamused and stony, "John Diaz?"

Galvez giggled, inappropriately and gleefully. "Well, for the purposes of my briefing I will call Julia Diaz's son 'Baby John', so not to confuse him with the late Abdul el-Zaid who was 'John Diaz Senior' and in fact 'Baby John's' grandfather. Which makes the terrorist suspect, Yasir el-Zaid, who was formerly 'John Diaz Junior' to be 'Baby John's' biological uncle."

_My Baby John._ Quinn's legs collapsed from under him. He clattered as he made a grab for one of the red plastic chairs where he'd sat with Syed earlier. _My Son John!_

Another vivid memory took over from his current reality. Quinn had eyed Julia curiously. _"Why did you call our baby, John?"_

_"John was my older brother's name. I never met him." _Julia had suddenly looked distraught._ "My mother, Rosa, said that my father abducted him, when John was a toddler. He disappeared whilst she was pregnant with me. She's never seen my brother John, or my father, since and has no idea what happened to them."_

Quinn groaned loudly as he recalled his strained conversation with Julia at the Police Station in Philadelphia, his head now in his hands.

"Quinn, have the decency to listen carefully to Galvez," growled Saul, knowingly and secretively. "Pay attention, this might be important for the CIA."

Quinn gulped and wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. He was freezing cold, yet sweating. In a distant corner of his brain he felt relieved that his extremely personal connection to the Diaz family was not yet being revealed to Galvez or Carrie, by Saul.

"Galvez. Carry on," ordered Saul.

"We believe that the terrorist suspect, Yasir el-Zaid, was spotted this morning in East Fairmount Park in Philadelphia. A woman called Sally Jones, reported a man, matching Yasir's description sat on park bench near a children's play area and appeared to be covertly taking photographs of a little boy playing there."

The words were like a punch in the gut to Quinn. _I know exactly which bench._ He instantly recalled John scooting away from his grandmother Rosa and over to him. _"See you again! You can have a turn on my scooter next time, Peter!"_

...

"So, Yasir is hanging out in East Fairmount Park. He's got an eye for little boys. Pretty disgusting, but not kidnapping or terrorism," chuckled Carrie.

"He's watching his four year old nephew, John." Quinn inhaled tightly, "He's watching Julia's, son. 'Baby John Diaz'." _MY SON, he's watching my fucking son_, he wanted to scream. "We need to move fast," Quinn jumped up. "We need to get Julia Diaz and my... her... son to safety."

"Sit down, Quinn," Saul seemed to have super-human powers to see down the line to Lebanon. "Galvez, pull a team together and arrange some surveillance on Yasir el-Zaid. If he really was the guy that Brody saw when he was taken to Abu Nazir by helicopter, then we need to see who else Yasir is liaising with in the US. Maybe they were part of the Al-Qaeda terror cell that bombed Walden's memorial. I always thought that Estes didn't act alone. I need to know what else they're planning."

"I'm on the next flight back." Quinn started walking down the corridor towards the exit that he'd seen Syed Bacho disappear through earlier. "We need to find out why Yasir is watching my s... his four year old nephew, 'Baby John Diaz', at the park."

"Quinn, we don't know that for sure," growled Saul. "You need to stay in Lebanon and debrief Rudy McCoy... get the details about his kidnapping by the _Children of Jihad_. I don't want you involved with this surveillance and potential apprehension of Yasir el-Zaid, if we find that he is working for Al-Qaeda."

_Fuck! _Quinn paused, cell-phone in one hand, door handle in the other. _Debrief McCoy... Ten minutes ago I was daydreaming about debriefing him in another way._ He glanced back down the corridor and saw the double doors, behind which he knew McCoy was still lying uncomfortably in his hospital bed, probably glum and impatiently waiting for him to return.

_El-Zaid... of course! It's like an anagram!_ Quinn's eyes widened as his neurons connected._ Zaid is the heteropalindrome of Diaz! Zaid, Diaz, Zaid, Diaz, Zaid, Diaz... Fuck!_

"Dar Adal can debrief fucking McCoy," Quinn's tone was dismissive as he pushed the handle determinedly and opened the door. He strode purposefully away down the corridor and was soon on his way out of the hospital and thinking about the journey home and mission ahead. _I'm flying back to protect my son John from his long-lost uncle and Al-Qaeda._


	43. Chapter 43: Unfortunate Pedigree

_Thanks for the reviews of Ch. 42, CSI Encyclopedia, Eyesdown104, Bluestarshine & Lilmisfit5290. Are you all excited for Season 3? :-) Keep your pens poised, ready to write S3 fanfic for me!_

_'The Date' is almost finished... only 5 or 6 (or maybe 7!) chapters to go after this. Thanks to all who have read this far. Please review!_

...

**THE DATE**

**CHAPTER 43**

Peter Quinn jetted back to the United States on the same military flight as Doctor Syed Bacho and his family. They were excited and grateful to the CIA for their safe passage out of the country and finally away from the terrorists who had knocked on their door for so many years.

Quinn had been curt in his response when questioned about his own swift departure from the Middle East. "I've got a mission back in Philadelphia, Syed."

"But what about your friend Rudy?" asked Syed, his brown eyes widening with concern. "How was he after his surgery?" He unconsciously clutched his stomach, the outline of his six-pack contracting through his white T-shirt.

"Rudy McCoy is fine," sniped Quinn, fishing out his cell-phone to avoid further eye contact and distraction by the flawless Syed. "He's the least of my worries right now."

Syed lowered his voice, his tone uncertain. "But he might need some support after his ordeal and I thought that you and him..." He tailed off as Quinn's glacial stare darted upwards from his cell-phone and impacted remorselessly like the sharp pick of an ice axe on vertical terrain.

"Sorry, you're clearly very busy." Syed narrowed his dark eyes, confused by Quinn's unexplained iciness and he sloped off back to his wife and two daughters.

Quinn gazed vacantly as the handsome form of Syed reluctantly retreated. He liked Syed and thought he was one of the bravest civilians he'd ever met. However, Quinn was unable to communicate honestly or humanely, after what he'd learned from Galvez about Yasir el-Zaid being Julia Diaz's long-lost abducted brother and hence the uncle of their four year old son, John.

_The worst fuck of my life_, Quinn griped to himself, remembering his drunken one night stand with Julia. He formed a steeple with his hands and pressed it to his taut lips as he thought about the unexpected and beautiful result of their hurried, fumbling and unromantic union. _John_. An innocent, perfect little boy, not only with the unfortunate pedigree of a black-ops assassin for a father, but now it seemed a hostage trader for a grandfather and an Al-Qaeda terrorist for an uncle.

_ Poor kid, at least he's got Julia for a mom and Rosa, for his grandmother_. The more Quinn thought about Yasir el-Zaid watching John at the park, the sourer the bilious tang in his mouth became and he soon found himself reaching for an airsickness bag. He'd had enough of vomit in the past twenty four hours. If it wasn't McCoy retching coagulated blood all over him in the back of a stolen car, it was the expulsion of his own steaming gastric contents into the nearest paper barf bag.

Syed reappeared by his seat, "You need more sick sacks?" His jaw unclenched as he considerately gestured for Quinn's leaking bag and thrust a wad of new, folded bags towards him.

"Thanks," Quinn mumbled, embarrassed to be observed in such a state.

"Close your eyes and sleep it off," ordered Syed. "Airsickness happens when your body senses a discrepancy between what you see and what you feel. It triggers the production of a neurotransmitter, likely mistaken by the body as a hallucinogenic poison, so vomiting occurs to expel it."

_It's not travel sickness I've got_, thought Quinn, but he nodded politely before closing his eyes. He tried to ignore his nausea and forget about his plans to hunt down Yasir el-Zaid. He attempted to recall his near-kiss earlier with Rudy McCoy in great detail. He was unable to fully appreciate the vague physical stirrings that his visualisation was inducing, because he became conscious of Syed returning and lingering, after disposing of the dripping bag of vomit.

_Let him watch me. I'm too sick to complain. Let him fantasise about undressing me. Let him undo..._

"More turbulence ahead," the pilot informed them via the crackling speaker. "Fasten your seat-belts."

"Let me help with yours," offered Syed kindly as he fumbled around Quinn's waist and lap.

Quinn didn't open his eyes as Syed's forearm brushed lightly, yet blissfully purposefully, against his sensitive, expectant groin.

"Behave yourself, Doctor," murmured Quinn. "Your wife is probably watching your every move."

"One day," whispered Syed, his palm curving purposefully over Quinn's muscular thigh. "You can teach me all that you know about two men together."

The corners of Quinn's lips instinctively curled upwards, "It'll be the shortest lecture you've ever had, Doctor." He opened his eyes, amused. "I know nothing."

"Rudy can show me then," Syed joked, winking, provocatively.

Reflexively, Quinn's hand sprang up from the arm-rest and grabbed Syed tightly around the wrist. He gripped remorselessly and dug the edge of his nails into the thinnest area of skin until he felt the pulse shudder. "You need to establish some personal and professional boundaries, Doctor Bacho, or you'll find yourself on a flight to Damascus... with a broken nose and two black eyes."

"Rudy McCoy deserves better than you," Syed hissed, wrenching his stinging, tender arm away. He squared his shoulders defiantly and marched back to his wife once more.

_Syed is probably right_. Quinn brought a shaking, sweating palm to his forehead. _Will McCoy ever forgive me for leaving without saying goodbye?_

...

Syed and Quinn kept their distance from each other for the remainder of the journey and were ushered towards separate vehicles after their flight had landed. Syed attempted to give a conciliatory nod and wave through the car window, but Quinn blanked him, staring straight ahead. Internally, he was too distracted, simmering with what he was going to do to Yasir el-Zaid.

...

"Is he alright?" Galvez mouthed to Saul. Quinn was crumpled, sleep-deprived and jet-lagged as he sat zombified in the small meeting room at Langley.

Saul glared at both of them. "Quinn, I will not tolerate you coming into work with a hangover. Was there a minibar on that flight back or something? I know you were probably celebrating with Doctor Bacho about rescuing McCoy, but you need to pay attention to Galvez." Saul leant over to Quinn and extracted his hands from his blanched grey face.

Galvez laughed, "Man, you really do have the whisky shakes, don't you! You're in a right fucking state!"

Saul poured Quinn a glass of water and growled. "Shut up, Galvez. Just carry on with your summary of your first attempt at surveillance today."

"So yeah, as I was saying... Virgil and I followed Yasir el-Zaid to East Fairmount Park today. I heard Yasir on his cell-phone talking about an unmarried whore who had brought shame on his family and needed punishing," reported Galvez.

Quinn who was already staring at his own hands, saw his knuckles whiten. _Julia?_

Saul had noticed too. "How do you know it was definitely Yasir el-Zaid in the park?"

Galvez continued, "I was sat on a picnic rug next to the same bench where Sally Jones had reported him the other day and I was pretending to read 'How to win friends and influence people' on my new Kindle. Have you read it? It's..."

"Galvez!" warned Saul, "If you mention that fucking e-reader once more I will shove it sideways up your..."

"Sorry. Yasir arrived and sat on the bench, answering his cell-phone a few times. He said '_Yasir speaking_', each time it rang," reported Galvez. "Then one time he made an outgoing call and said '_Tell them Mr el-Zaid called. I'm at the park and I'll be picking up the goods tomorrow, around this time._' Here..." Galvez slid an enlarged image across the table. "Virgil managed to take a photograph of Yasir using a long lens from his van. Here he is. Attractive motherfucker." It was a head-shot of a frowning hispanic-looking man wearing a grimy red baseball cap with a white letter _'P'_ on the front.

"The _'P'_ is for Philadelphia Phillies," mumbled Quinn. "Brody saw Yasir wearing that cap when he was playing football with Issa in Iraq, whilst Abdul el-Zaid was inside doing business with Abu Nazir."

"Yeah, we know," Galvez nodded and pulled out some other photographs from a yellow cardboard foolscap folder. "It's definitely Yasir el-Zaid. These are family photographs emailed from his step-mom, Nadiyah, in Lebanon. Look, he's always wearing that same damn red cap."

Quinn gasped as he leafed through the photographs of Yasir. It was like looking at a male-version of Julia Diaz._ It was the eyes_, he decided. The dark oval eyes that had never really floated his boat. _I've always preferred blue eyes_. Quinn instinctively thought about Carrie and then McCoy's pained blue gaze as he'd left his bedside.

Quinn saw Saul's eyes widen and knew that he'd noticed the family resemblance too, probably recalled from when Saul had met Police Office Julia Diaz in Philadelphia, under the guise of being '_Richard Keller_' from the IRS to covertly find out more about the mysterious new CIA Analyst, Peter Quinn.

"Makes sense that Yasir is a Phillies fan, if his late father Abdul told him the truth about the Diaz family and his Philly heritage," growled Saul.

Galvez nodded in agreement. "Could Julia be the '_unmarried whore_' that Yasir is talking about? The one he's going to punish for bringing shame on the family? Perhaps because she's had a kid out of wedlock? If Yasir really is radicalised, he'd hate that... and Julia is his biological sister after all."

"What if the goods that Yasir is collecting tomorrow is Julia's son, John?" Quinn was sweating. "What if Yasir is going to abduct him?"

Galvez looked excited "Baby John can be the bait. We'll have our people in place at the park tomorrow to capture Yasir, when he comes to abduct his nephew."

"No. Fucking. Way." Quinn shook his head violently. "It's too risky."

"I think it's a good plan..." offered Saul. "Yasir is potentially the Al-Qaeda terrorist who helped Estes with the Memorial bombing. Perhaps Yasir's plan to abduct his nephew, John, is more personal business? Regardless, we really need to make sure we catch him. If we have a time and a place that we know he's going to be tomorrow morning then we should use that to our advantage. He might have other Al-Qaeda operatives with him tomorrow. We can capture the whole lot of them."

Galvez nodded, eagerly "I agree. If we take Julia and John to the safe house now, then the alarm bells will start ringing and Yasir will flee. Using Baby John Diaz as bait tomorrow might be the best chance we might get to capture his uncle Yasir."

Quinn was pale. "What if it goes wrong though? A stray bullet could hit a kid in the park. It's too risky." He felt his stomach recoil further. _MY KID! Someone might shoot my kid!_

"We'll do a risk assessment. If Yasir el-Zaid is one of the terrorists responsible for killing two hundred innocent souls at Walden's Memorial, then we have to capture him, no matter what." Saul was resolute. "We will have to take some risks in order to achieve that goal."

Quinn shook his head, even more emphatically, "You can't risk the life of a four year old boy. It's just not..." He paused, distracted as he noticed a tearful Carrie appear outside the door.

Saul stood up as Carrie gestured desperately for him, tapping her watch. He headed for the door. "If we don't capture Yasir tomorrow, then that four year old boy will have to stay in hiding for the rest of his life. If Yasir is set on abducting his nephew, then he'll achieve it one way or another," Saul was confident. "His father, Abdul, was an expert on kidnapping and abduction. Yasir will know how to do it."

...

"It's ironic really," Galvez tittered away to himself after Saul had left the room. "Abdul el-Zaid abducted his son, Yasir... when they were both called '_John Diaz'_ and now Yasir plans to abduct his own nephew, John. That Diaz family has some serious issues. Haim Cohen, the Psychologist, would have a field-day with them!"

"Are you trying to make jokes, Galvez?" The table vibrated menacingly as an incandescent Quinn shoved it hard as he stood up. "Child abduction is not the funniest thing I've heard about lately."

"You're really concerned about that little boy aren't you?" Galvez snickered, "Good job you're not Baby John's father, or I imagine you'd be off to Philadelphia right now... to whisk him away to safety and ruin the CIA's plans before tomorrow!"

"Fuck the CIA's plans," Quinn swallowed hard as he heard one of his ideas being verbalised by Galvez. "That kid is NOT being used as bait. This is my plan..."


End file.
